#Pavellan fanfiction

[aymayzing]

I Cannot Erase You, I Cannot Replace You

He tried to protest still. Get back on track with his plan, pull the reality towards what he imagined. I should go. So no one would see him leaving the room in the morning. So he didn't get too used to this. So he didn't get too hopeful. I thought you came in here ready to set the tongues wagging?, Lavellan laughed into his hair before placing a soft kiss at the back of his neck, pulling Dorian closer, tightening his embrace. Stay. Please. I want you to stay. But it'd end in the morning, right? It had to. Whatever bubble they were in for the night, it had to pop in the morning with Dorian leaving, pull them back into the harsh reality. It didn't.

Read on AO3 or below!

"Your taste is a little… austere."

It wasn't exactly the right word but the best one Dorian could come up with to describe what he was seeing. Lavellan's private quarters were simple. Nothing special really. Odd for a man with the titles Lord Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste. One would expect this man's quarters to reflect his titles' grandeur. To be dripping in gold, wrapped in finest silks, filled with marble.

This wasn't the case. The furniture in the room were the same ones Josephine had chosen and put in here right after their arrival in Skyhold. Their financial situation at the time was not ideal and so she didn't go for splendor and glamour. The furniture were well-made and sturdy but that's about it. No fine craftsmanship, no gold. They were also very few. A bed, a couch, a dresser. The desk and chair were so utterly covered in letters, reports and books that Dorian wasn't sure if it was right to count them at all.

Personal touches reflecting the inhabitant's character were scarce as well. Assortment of herbs drying in bundles under the ceiling. A box holding the neatly stacked equipment for brweing poisons. A small Dalish altar on top of the dresser. A few furs of differing sizes usually residing on the bed but due to their exertions, now kicked down onto the floor, mixed with pieces of their clothing.

"I'm not used to having this much space for just myself," Lavellan said. Dorian turned around to look at him from where he was standing a few steps away from the bed. He cut a marvelous figure, lounging around naked like that. Long legs, wide shoulders, muscled arms. The occasional scar cutting through the freckled expanse of his skin, inked lines of tattoos stretching out from his face onto his neck, from his back onto his sides. Warm light of the fire place catching on his long pale blonde hair. Dorian was sure he'd never get enough of this view.

"The aravel I used to share with my father was… Maybe a third of the size of this room? And it had to fit all of our equipment. I don't know a thing about room decorating. You, on the other hand." Lavellan jabbed a finger towards Dorian. "You probably do. Feel free to change away. Creators know this room should feel a bit more homely."

Dorian chuckled as he made his way back to the bed and sat down on the edge. "I'll speak with Josephine. I'm sure we can arrange for a new armchair or a chaise. Maybe something to hang on the walls as well."

There was a smile on Lavellan's face but he was watching Dorian closely. "You seem kind of… distracted."

"Sex will do that. It's distracting," Dorian fired back immediately, hoping it came off as certain and casual as he intended for it to.

It didn't.

Lavellan's smile vanished. The tattoos on his forehead rippled as he drew his brows.

"Dorian." It was a warning. He knew something was up and he wasn't letting it go so easily. Somehow, he always knew when Dorian was dodging a conversation and recognized when it wasn't a conversation that should be dodged. Or maybe Dorian was just always dodging the important ones.

Fingers gently brushing down Dorian's side, Lavellan leaned forward a bit, looking at him with worry.

"Is it about our fight?"

It wasn't a fight, not really. It was a petty squabble over a non-issue. It stemmed from the two of them being tired, already annoyed and overhearing a remark of an Orlesian noble who's name they didn't even know. It was utterly silly. Lavellan recognized that quickly enough. What are we doing? This is stupid, he said, shaking his head as he left to cool off. He focused on other things for the rest of the day and by the evening, he had largely forgotten this took place at all, looking forward to seeing Dorian so they could make up.

Dorian didn't recognize it for the foolishness that it was. For him, it was the start of a downward spiral.

What did Lavellan mean by that? What is stupid? The fight? Or them?

Was that it? It had to end at some point. Whatever was happening between them was, after all, a short-lived affair. It had to be. What else could it be? Lavellan had to shake out of it and end things with Dorian so he could focus on being the Inquisitor or pursue someone more suited for him, like Josephine, or maybe Cassandra.

Dorian, of course, tried very hard to convince himself he knew that too, accepted it and was fine with it. Except he wasn't. That lie he repeated to himself every time he left the Inquisitor's quarters, had run its course. Faced with the possibility that Lavellan had finally come to his senses, Dorian had to admit he didn't want things to end. He didn't want to let Lavellan go. He wanted things to stay as they were. No. He wanted more. More of what he already got and some things he has not yet gotten.

He just wanted Lavellan.

As foolish as that was.

But now he went and ruined it. If he just tried harder, maybe he could've kept him by his side just a little longer. Keep up the fantasy for the both of them – for Lavellan, that for now Dorian was a good enough affair partner; for Dorian that he succeeded, that he had Lavellan. He didn't and he wasn't and now, because he was also stubborn and spoiled, Lavellan realized what Dorian knew all this time. A rejection was coming and Dorian's heart twisted in pain at the thought. But what else did he expect?

By the evening, Dorian had already convinced himself Lavellan would not only put an end to their affair, he must also surely despise him now and would send him away from the Inquisition.

He didn't even remember what exactly he said when he entered Lavellan's quarters. Something along those lines but presented in his more casual, confident way. Like they had already come to an understanding and Dorian was just recapping that, wrapping it in a layer of jokes so it'd be digestible.

What he did remember was the way Lys' golden-green eyes changed as he heard it all. From the initial warmth at the sight of Dorian, through confusion, to something like panic. He flew through the room to Dorian, hands reaching out to him, grasping at Dorian's arms. He sat him down on the couch (which in his shaken state Dorian noticed had been moved to stand in front of the fireplace, when he could swear last night it was by the stairs; was Lavellan dragging it around the room? He could use an armchair. Maybe a chaise).

As Lavellan's hands were caressing Dorian's face, moving up and down his arms, the elf was apologizing. I'm sorry if I made it seem like it was such a big deal to me. It wasn't. Of course it wasn't. It was so silly! I'm so sorry. You don't have to leave, what are you talking about? Of course, if you do want to leave, I will not hold you here against your will. But you don't have to leave. I don't want you to leave. You know that, right? I want you to stay. This fight meant nothing to me. I care about you. Please, stay. I'm so sorry.

Dorian's brain was at first rejecting what he was hearing. Surely, he must've misheard. That could not truly be what Lavellan was saying. No, Dorian knew exactly what Lavellan would say when he came here and it wasn't this.

So why was he hearing this?

Finally, Lavellan somehow broke through whatever walls Dorian's brain threw up in the past few hours. No wonder – he always found a way to strip down Dorian's defenses, get past them without Dorian realizing until it was too late. His brain caught onto how the situation was unfolding. It wasn't the way Dorian had earlier imagined.

And that wasn't surprising. Well, no, that's not right. It was surprising. It was shocking. Except it shouldn't have been. Not really. Lavellan tended to surprise Dorian. Defy his expectations. So maybe he should've seen it coming.

Dorian has, of course, heard about the Herald of Andraste even before meeting him that first time in the Redcliffe Chantry. He didn't spare him much thought before then but even still, unwittingly, his brain came up with a picture of the man he was about to meet. Sketched out his vague idea, expectations of how he'd look, how he'd behave. He could not recall now what that image was but it certainly wasn't Lavellan.

He knew he was an elf. Aside from that, not one thing did he imagine about the man right. He didn't expect a dashing rogue. He didn't imagine the man would be this down to earth. He certainly did not foresee the two of them joking about getting Alexius a fruit basket a few minutes into their first conversation.

Whatever stencil his brain came up, it had to be discarded immediately.

And then it happened again, in that dark future. Lavellan was no religious fanatic, he was a random person dragged into a gigantic mess, trying to make the right decisions in the very middle of it. He wasn't a divine knight rushing into the thick of battle in righteous anger. He was an archer, hiding in the shadows, keeping back, away from enemies. He didn't stomp down the Southern mages' rebellion, he allied with them, therefore legitimizing the whole ordeal.

And again. Back during that final night in Haven, under attack, Dorian imagined Lavellan as a martyr, dying heroically under tons and tons of snow. Maybe he'd be named an Anointed by the Southern Chantry, depicted the way Dorian saw his last moments in his mind – head held high, blade raised as snow was rushing close. But that image was wrong. The whole scene Dorian imagined was wrong. Lavellan didn't die. He got back to them. Undignified, shivering, with blue lips and dried blood caked on his temple, gluing together strands of his hair, unlike all those clean, smooth depictions of holy women and men the Chantry so liked.

And then again. When Dorian strolled into the Inquisitor's quarters after weeks, months of flirting, of him helping Dorian, getting wrapped up in his personal business with his father and then watching over him as he drank himself into a stupor.

Dorian had realized whatever he was feeling for Lavellan had began to drift away from friendship to something else. Something that caused his heart to beat faster whenever he caught Lavellan's gaze from across the room. That filled his chest with pride whenever he made him laugh. That made him feel both comfortable and at the same time rigid with anticipation when they were spending time together.

Back then he still tried to convince himself that it was just unbreached sexual tension. Most natural thing in the world, yes? Two attractive men, working closely together in a stressful situation. This called for some licking lampposts in winter, as the ridiculous Fereldan saying went. It'd satisfy them. Satiate their curiosity about one another. Calm them down and allow Dorian to put some much needed distance between the two of them.

Dorian had a very clear idea of what he came in that room for that evening. Expectations on how this would go. A step by step plan. Specific goals. It all fell apart within the first two minutes when Lavellan broke the kiss. My, so eager, he laughed then. Are we in a hurry? Dorian went back to the kiss, all hungry lips, teeth and tongue. I want you, he whispered to Lavellan. He pulled back a bit, grasped Dorian's face with both hands. I'm here. With you. You've got me already. You've had me for a while now.

Where Dorian aimed for a quick tumble, two people simply chasing release, Lavellan went for something much different. He took his time. They kissed long enough for Dorian to be left breathless, hands just roaming over their clothed bodies, slowly discovering each other. Then Lavellan guided them to the bed and they undressed slowly while kissing and laughing and looking into each other's eyes. In the time it took them just to get naked, any of Dorian's usual trysts in dark corners would've been done twice over. But this was not a usual tryst. Fear and hope both accompanied this realization as Dorian breathlessly whispered Lys' name again and again and again and again.

They laughed and kissed and swapped stories about their scars before going for seconds and by the time Lavellan crawled back into bed after cleaning them up, Dorian was half asleep, comfortable and safe, his chest swelling with something bright and hopeful. He tried to protest still. Get back on track with his plan, pull the reality towards what he imagined. I should go. So no one would see him leaving the room in the morning. So he didn't get too used to this. So he didn't get too hopeful. I thought you came in here ready to set the tongues wagging?, Lavellan laughed into his hair before placing a soft kiss at the back of his neck, pulling Dorian closer, tightening his embrace. Stay. Please. I want you to stay.

But it'd end in the morning, right? It had to. Whatever bubble they were in for the night, it had to pop in the morning with Dorian leaving, pull them back into the harsh reality.

It didn't.

Where Dorian thought the morning after would be awkward and embarrassing, Lavellan put him at ease. Where Dorian expected a hurried exit, Lavellan prolonged their goodbye by pulling him in for a kiss and one more and one more and one more and one more. Where Dorian expected to be thrilled to leave after accomplishing all that he set out to accomplish that night, he ended up not wanting to leave at all, drawn to the man like a moth to a flame. Where he expected inner calm and capacity to focus entirely on his studies and the Inquisition's mission, he found himself utterly distracted, thinking back to his time with Lavellan, looking around for any sign of the man, craving any scrap of his attention, wishing for another moment alone with him.

And then he got another night and another and another and another and another. And Lavellan would stop by to talk with him in the library, ask him out for drinks at the tavern, seek Dorian out to spend with him whatever breaks he could take from his duties. Out in the field, they fought side by side during the day and fell asleep in each other's arms at night. Dorian hasn't complained about being out in nature in weeks. He was happy he was where Lavellan was.

Whatever bubble they found themselves in that first night together, was, shockingly, still there.

That was the most surprising thing Dorian has ever experienced. And it was, of course, at the hands of Lavellan. Always surprising. Always defying expectations.

So is it any wonder that this man who always surprised Dorian, surprised him again when he began to apologize for their silly fight?

That fog of fear and shame that wrapped itself around Dorian had dissipated, relief flooding his senses. The only thing Dorian found himself able to do was kiss Lavellan, again and again and again and again. They ended up in his bed and Dorian knew now with unshaken certainty that he was in trouble. He had completely lost the plot. Lost his head. Found himself in circumstances he didn't anticipate, didn't foresee, could not have imagined.

A completely new path with no clear end and no directions was opening up before him.

All this was still buzzing in his head as he lied by Lavellan's side, their breaths evening out. As he had stood up from the bed, turned away from Lavellan and began appraising his room, giving himself a moment to breathe and gather his thoughts. As he sat back down on the bed, deciding to use the chance to speak with Lavellan.

Is it about our fight?

"No," Dorian said. "Yes," he changed his answer. Took a deep breath. "In a way?"

Lavellan shifted on the bed, sat up, mirroring Dorian's posture, preparing for a more serious conversation. Gathered his long hair and threw it over the shoulder away from Dorian, so he could see his face unobscured by the frankly ridiculous amount of hair this man had. He kept it braided when out in field and tried to keep it braided, or at least pulled back, in bed too but Dorian usually got his way and let them down. He loved running his fingers trough it, wrapping it around his hand, pulling slightly, just enough for the pressure to incite small, delicious sounds of out his lover's lips.

A good thing he was pulling his hair away from Dorian, he got distracted quickly when Lavellan's hair was involved.

"I'm curious where this goes, you and I."

“Where do you want it to go?” Lys asked softly. Dorian bit his cheek, considering the question.

“All on me, then?”

It was fair, he supposed. He brought it up. Maybe Lavellan would've even conceded to saying his bit first but Dorian worked up the courage to talk. A completely new path with no clear end and no directions was opening up before him. Uncertain. Leading into new and unknown territory. High risk, high reward. Terrifying. Yet hopeful and exciting. Promising so much of what Dorian craved so desperately. And he was willing to risk venturing down this path but he had to know if Lavellan saw it the same way.

Deep breath. Bracing himself for speaking aloud the truth he tried to keep from happening and then from acknowledging. He failed in that, of course. Clearly.

“I like you. More than I should. More than might be wise,” Dorian whispered, making sure to look anywhere but Lavellan's eyes. He shook his head. "We end it here, I walk away. I won't be pleased, but I'd rather now than later. Later…" Later I will be fully, completely, utterly in love with you. Later, you'll break my heart. And I don't know if I'll be able to pick up the pieces left by you later. "It might be harder to walk away later."

Dorian was sick to his stomach. Such vulnerability. Back in Tevinter, a conversation like this was unimaginable. Unattainable. It would leave him and his family exposed to an attack. Even here, even now, even with Lavellan, something in Dorian's brain was shrieking in alarm, warning him he was about to pay a high price for those words.

Fists clenching, nails digging into his palms, he took a deep breath. Just a few moments longer. He had to pull through just a bit longer and he'd knew.

Lavellan noticed this and put his own hand over Dorian's, thumb brushing the skin slowly, soothingly.

"I don't want you to walk away," Lys said softly.

Dorian whipped his head around, looking at Lavellan surprised. Yet again.

Of course the bloody bastard surprised him again.

Lavellan let go of Dorian's hand to shift on the bed, his body now turned fully towards Dorian, legs tucked under him. He grasped Dorian's face in both hands, their eyes meeting, fingers brushing Dorian's skin.

"I don't you to walk away," he repeated, softly but with a decisiveness to it. "Not now, not later." He raised himself up a bit which left him kneeling on the bed. "I want you. I want you to stay. Please, Dorian. Stay. Stay with me."

They looked into each other's eyes for a while, Dorian searching Lavellan's face, as if for confirmation. He seemed serious. Honest. How odd. How surprising.

How was Dorian once again surprised that Lavellan surprised him? He truly needed to get used to this.

The words were sinking in and the only thing Dorian found himself able to do was kiss Lavellan, again and again and again and again.

A completely new path with no clear end and no directions was opening up before them. Uncertain. Leading into new and unknown territory. High risk, high reward. Terrifying. Yet hopeful and exciting. Promising so much of what Dorian craved so desperately. And he was willing to risk venturing down this path now that he knew Lavellan saw it the same way. They'd risk this new path together.

[halla-hunts-the-wolf]

Last night I found a fic I wrote years ago, posted, and forgot about. While it wasn't very good it did feel like I was reading it for the first time. Here are some lines that made adult me cheer on teenage me:

Classic Pavellan banter. 10/10 giggling and kicking my feet.

A former keeper had lost her clan, and this dialogue had me on my knees at 2 am.

IS THIS NOT PEAK ROMANCE?

[theoldgaylion]

through the glass

Summary: That one time Tarquin met the Inquisitor Lavellan just for Dorian to tease him about his obvious feelings for Ashur, but Tarquin ran away from both.

---

Opening his eyes that morning, Tarquin thought it would've been just another day in his double, yet unremarkable life, as of lately.

In fact, it'd been almost a year since he joined the Shadow Dragons, an underground organization whose primary purpose was to dismantle the current state of injustices and make Tevinter a better place for everyone, and not only for a close élite circle. His contribution had been well-seen among the other members, although at first he’d been eyed warily because of his direct connection to the templars. But his boring job as an archivist had turned out to be an important resource of information for the Shadow Dragons, so he quickly became essential to the group. In all honesty, he would've done anything to make his colleagues’ job more difficult.

However, when he stepped inside their hideout in Dock Town, he couldn't predict what would've happened.

As he was rifling through the pages of a daily newspaper, just to be caught up with the latest events in Minrathous, a foreign voice caught his attention. He lifted his head just to spot Magister Dorian Pavus crossing the threshold in the company of a stranger.

An elf, dalish by the dark green vallaslin that took most of his forehead and cheeks. He wasn't much taller than himself; his hair, as red as tree leaves during Frumentum in Ferelden, was wrapped in a delicate bun at the top of his head, while a tuft had been left free on the left side of his face, that was covered in auburn freckles. His eyes were what stood out the most on his features, due to their deep sky blue color. His nose, currently wrinkled in an amused expression, was small, except for its tip that was curved upward, while its bridge was straight.

He looked at the couple quizzically, then he remembered Ashur mentioning that the magister had a partner, in the South. And that suspicion was easily confirmed as soon as the stranger wrapped his arms around Dorian’s bicep, staring up at him with affection.

“Hello, Dorian.” the templar greeted him once they were close enough to hear him.

The magister blinked like he just realized Tarquin was there, as the elf pulled back from him, blushing a little.

Dorian smirked. “Did Ashur put you here to welcome the guests? What a great choice.” he taunted him, sarcasm coloring his voice.

Before the templar could actually reply for good measure at those words, the elf widened his eyes as he exclaimed “You must be Tarquin!”.

Keep reading on ao3

[dragonagedreaming]

this is the first fic i've ever posted on here, so please be kind! feel free to reblog, but please do not repost <3

Some notes:

This is a fic in a world where the Hero of Ferelden and the Champion of Kirkwall both joined up with the Inquisition for their own purposes. I love the idea of the three of them commiserating over a drink and finding commonalities in their love lives (which, I'll be honest, is the entire reason I picked up dragon age in the first place.)

Ahvi is my purple mage hawke, romanced Fenris. Stella is my rogue Cousland, romanced Alistair. And Terys is my Lavellan inquisitor, romanced Dorian. The three of them are my canon worldstate :)

Enjoy!

            Ahvi let out a relieved breath and slammed his cup back on the table. He smiled wide and leaned back, crossing his arms over his stomach and kicking his feet up. “Fuck me, if the Hanged Man had had drinks like these, I don’t think I would have ever left.”

            Stella smiled, leaning her head on her palm as she loosely held her tankard in one hand. “Did you ever leave?”

            “Hey! I had to destroy Kirkwall at some point,” Ahvi shot back. “Couldn’t do that from a bar.”

            “Oh, I quite disagree.” Stella smirked, lifting her cup to her lips. There was a light thump under the table, and Ahvi winced as Stella chuckled into her drink.

            “Maker, you’re fast.” Ahvi moaned as he rubbed his knee under the table.

            “Had to be, to kill an Archdemon.”

            Terys chuckled softly. “Glad that you enjoy it, Hawke.”

            Ahvi smiled, raising his tankard up slightly and taking a slower swig. “Speaking of enjoyment…” he started, waggling his dark eyebrows above his cup and training his black eyes on Terys’s golden ones. “You and- Dorian, was it?”

            Terys raised a pale brow in comparison, a light smile gracing his lips. “That is indeed his name.”

            “How did that happen, anyways?” Stella asked, leaning in.

            Terys leaned back in his chair, kicking one leg over the other. “Well, that depends on what you’ve heard.”

            “You know, I’ve been assuming that the majority of what I’ve heard about the two of you is probably bullshit.” Ahvi chimed. “I assume he hasn’t used blood magic to make you heed his beck and call-“

            “Or that you’re blackmailing such a highborn son into staying in your bed-“

            “Or that he’s actually a very adept Tevinter spy, sending reports back home on the Inquisitor’s wine preferences.”

            “Alright, alright.” Terys laughed, leaning back into the table. “What precisely did you want to know?”

            Stella leaned in closer, but Hawke jumped in first. “How is it? You know. It.”

            “You’re twelve.” Stella jokingly scoffed, and Hawke let out a bark of laughter.

            “Amazing.” Terys smiled, eyes darkening and gaze lingering on the table. Stella and Ahvi exchanged a smirking glance.

            “And the love?” Stella asked, a knowing smile on her face.

            Terys glanced up, between the two legendary heroes sitting at his table. At the silver wedding band on Queen Stella’s left hand. At Hawke, whose courtship with a certain white haired elf was known across every corner of Thedas.

            “Even better.”

            Stella giggled- the Warden-Commander, giggling- and Hawke clapped a hand across Terys’s slender shoulders. “Then to love and not dying!”

            “To love and not dying!”

[blarrghe]

The Hunter, the Snake, and the Fox

Hello! Rather than making my usual promo post with a snippet for the last chapters, which would be super spoilery, I thought I'd just share some hype about the fic I just finished!

The Hunter, the Snake and the Fox is an enemies-to-lovers bittersweet tragedy. I spent a lot of time on it, and I think it's really good. You should read it!

Word Count: 73 918 Rating: E for violence and gay sex Chapters: 30

Set in an AU with no need for an Inquisition, Taren Lavellan is First of his clan, and Dorian Pavus has become a Magister, following the death of his father. Motivated by a myth that might be the only hope for his dying friend, Dorian embarks on a quest into the forests of the Free Marches. When his expedition meets unexpectedly with a clan of unhappy Dalish elves, First Taren Lavellan may be the unhappiest among them. Unhappier still to be put to the task of helping to see his quest through.

Here are some nice things people had to say about The Hunter, the Snake and the Fox:

"Wonderful, beautiful writing. I love this so much. <3"

- Grammaticaster

"I really enjoy how you build on the story that they've given us. You put a lot of thought into everything and it shows."

- Phrixion

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH"

- Oedie

"I've just read this entire thing and ahh what a journey! Really really well done, I love this twist on the Pavellan dynamic. Your dialogue is excellent and feels very natural and in character. All of your original/side characters were also really well crafted and compelling, I've grown very fond of them!! The penultimate chapter was so heartbreaking but the ending was a lovely way to tie the story up. So glad I read this!"

- betweenfactandbreakfast

"Blarghe, you wrote a masterpiece with this. You truly truly did."

- Oedie (who left the best comments on this fic you should read it just to experience them).

So why not give The Hunter, the Snake, and the Fox a chance today? You will surely not regret reading The Hunter, the Snake, and the Fox.

[phoenixxheart13]

Chapter Twenty-Five of Love & Magic: The Inquisitor's Tale is now available on AO3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62390101/chapters/162402559

[justcallmefox89]

My favorite inky….. Rajmael Lavellan.

[shanaraharlyah]

Dragon Age Inquisition Pavellan Masterlist

Kartaelin x Dorian

My Dragon Age addiction came back with a vengeance in late 2020 when I started working on Kartaelin's run. I wanted to do a Dorian romance and since Taelin had also been deprived of ever having the relationship he wanted in his original setting, I thought this would be a great opportunity for both of them to heal. I haven't managed to finish as much as some other ships, but they're still precious in my heart. They don't have their own tag yet so you will find them under pavellan and under Kartaelin's personal tag.

Dragon Age Inquisition

Research

Feel

Dragon Age Inquisition - Trespasser

Never Gonna Be Alone part 1

Never Gonna Be Alone part 2

Promises prompt

[tevinterwine]

[ deep cuts ] : l i n k

“It’s an act of defiance, in a way.”  “Against?”  “Solas’ flaming pile of bullshit he calls an agenda,” he replied, words muffled just a bit against the skin he was just kissing. Dorian moved one hand, cupping the man’s face once again. Falon’fen looked a little wrecked, slightly devastated, and rather… hurt. “He left us all when it mattered the most and then left specifically me behind all over again after all the effort I put into chasing his cowardly self.”

WORD LENGTH: 2,480 STATUS: COMPLETE

[spicywarl0ck]

I had so much fun with the ask yesterday, that I rewrote some bits to make a Dorian/trans male Lavellan version x3 I crossposted both on my Ao3, because I had fun writing it, but I am sharing the altered version here too x3 Just be mindful that this could use some triggering words, and if you are not comfortable with the Cl** and Cu** words being used, stay clear of this please x3 Pairing: Dorian/trans male Lavellan Rating: E

The rush of air felt cold against his flushed cheeks.

He heard the soft splashing of the nearby well, the sound comforting in contrast with the noise inside. Just a moment for himself was all he needed, a moment of calmness after dealing with too many politicians and murder plots.

Revassan took a deep breath, inhaling the soft scents of the exotic flowers around him. 

“Ah, and there I wondered where the hero of the evening went. I figured I’d find you here.” Dorian’s voice made him smile on the spot. It had been hard to find even a minute for themselves with everything going on. They’d only been able to squeeze in one tiny dance on the balcony.

“You always seem to sense where to find me,” Revassan smirked at the mage. “I’d almost say you keep a magical tracker on me.”

“Maybe I do.” He watched the eyes of the Altus glinting slightly, his lips stretching into a mischievous smirk. “We Tevinter mages are rather good at keeping track of our elves.” Dorian joked. “Wouldn’t want them to run away and develop free will, right?” he teased. 

“Ah, I knew there was a catch.” The elf chuckled, observing as Dorian's expression softened. “I take it you came to fetch me then?” 

“Actually, I wanted to steal a moment with you.” Dorian presented him with the bottle of wine he’d held behind his back. “What could be nicer than a picnic in Celene’s gardens right?” 

“And also her wine, I assume?” 

“Of course.” The mage gestured him toward the stone frame of the well. He would never get dirt onto his outfit. “But to soothe your conscience, I asked very politely,” Dorian added swiftly.

“Aren’t you always?” Revassan chuckled as he graciously sat next to the Tevinter mage. “I’m impressed.”

“As you should be.” By the creators, he loved this cocky man. He’s tried to withstand his charms at first but fell for him sooner than expected. Now, he was caught in his trap, unable to let go of the magnificent man that Dorian Pavus was.

“I see you’re very humble tonight.” Revassan teased, watching as Dorian conjured two drinking cups up before he filled them with the sweet red liquid.

“Of course I am.” Dorian’s mustache moved with his smile. “I am the humblest man you’ll ever meet,” he added, only his eyes betraying his words and calling his tease out. By now, Revassan was more than capable of reading this man.

It took him a while to see the vulnerability of Dorian, but he’d taken a deep understanding after meeting his father in Redcliffe.

“Thank you for sneaking the wine out.” Revassan’s smile was genuine. “I needed it,” he added. The past evening had been a lot, and he hadn’t been sure how to deal with political situations. His people didn’t really meddle in things like that, the conclave being the only exception he witnessed. 

If he was honest, it was surprising that they listened to a Dalish elf. 

“I know.” Dorian’s voice sounded soft when he spoke. “You’re not ballroom material,” he added, the tease evident in his voice. “For me, it’s like coming home.” His gaze drifted away for a heartbeat, the corners of his lips dropping slightly.

“Do you miss it?” 

“Home? Of course. Tevinter might have his flaws, but it’s still my home. Don’t you miss your Clan?” he replied, taking a thoughtful sip of wine as he let it dance on his palate. “Hm, I have to say not bad, but nothing could beat a Tevinter Redwine.”

“I miss them.” A sad smile danced on Revassan’s lips. “I miss them ever since I left. Funny, isn’t it?” he chuckled.

“I always wanted to leave, but now that I am so far away from them, I can’t help but want to go back.” It wasn’t as if he could or would, to begin with. There had been nothing more he wanted but to go back when he woke up in the dungeon in Haven. But he knew there was no turning back now.

He’d come too far for that. 

Also, there was Dorian. He wasn’t sure if his father would approve of a Tevinter Altus, meaning he’d need to make a choice sooner or later. For now, though, he didn’t want to choose.

“We always miss the things we can’t have. Or so they say.” The mage’s face turned firm, his eyes studying him intensely.

“I told myself I won’t compromise myself anymore.” He set the cup aside before his hand stretched to touch Revassan’s cheek. The elf felt the cold metal of Dorian’s rings pressing against his skin, the touch soothing against his wine-heated cheeks.

“Neither should you.”

Revassan couldn’t say who initiated it, maybe both of them, but he didn’t care much about the hows and who’s as he melted contently into the kiss. Dorian always knew what he needed, the sweet taste of Orlesian wine lingering on his lips.

He got lost in the touch, slightly shuddering against the mage’s palm cupping his cheek. 

It was easy to forget everything around them as he closed his eyes, just enjoying the moment and closeness of the other man against him as neither wanted to withdraw.

“Getting a little excited?” Dorian chuckled against his lips as he felt him shiver

He didn’t even give him a chance to answer until his tongue brushed against his lips, gently asking for entrance before slipping in. This bastard knew all too well what he did to him. Revassan melted in his arms as his whimpers were muffled by the invading tongue exploring his mouth.

An unbearable heat began to claim his body, yet he also shivered as he felt the chilly breeze.

All he felt was the body pressing against him and the tongue moving inside his mouth. A hand pressed against his lower back, drawing him closer while the mage ravaged every corner of his mouth, leaving him wanting more.

“Dorian~” his voice got muffled against his devouring lips, and he wasn’t sure if he had spoken or just uttered the altus’s name in his head. It didn’t really matter.

“You’re shivering.” The smug reply indicated that Dorian heard him after all. “And you’re aroused. I know it,” he added, luring a groan out of the elf’s lips as their pelvises touched.

“So are you.” Revassan teased before a rushed breath escaped him when Dorian pushed him further against one of the walls surrounding the gardens.

“I am always excited for you, Amatus,” he whispered against his ear, his tongue darting over the pointed tips and making him moan hoarsely. Revassan tried to hold back, but he couldn’t betray the want in his voice.

Creators, he wanted this man, and he wanted him now.

“We can’t.” The elf tried to protest still, fighting a battle against his wine and lust-filled brain. He wanted to do nothing more but to be ravaged by the tevinter mage, no matter the place or the time. 

“I can tell you don’t mean what you say.” Dorian chuckled, his lips still too close to his sensitive ears. 

He dragged his tongue all over the tip, causing Revassan’s fingers to curl into his tunic tightly. A strangled moan escaped him as he tilted his head to the side, giving the impossible man more access to his ear and neck.

“I guess I have to make you beg for it then. We both know you will.” 

It was both a threat and a promise. Dorian always managed to bring him to that point, and Revassan was sure the Altus would manage this time, too. No matter if they were in the Empress's gardens or not.

A part of him needed to admit that the thought excited him a bit.

“What if someone sees us?” The elf asked, even though the chance added to the thrill. He knew the corner that Dorian was dark enough that no one would see for real, but just the implication of it would serve the nobles enough topics to gossip about.

“Are you truly caring about that?” Dorian’s voice was husky, but Revassan knew he only needed to say the word, and he’d stop.

“I leave that to you to find out.” Revassan teased him, only to moan as quietly as he could when he felt Dorian’s teeth scrapping against the sensitive skin of his ears.

One hand slowly snaked towards his crotch, brushing against his pants innocently enough to play it off accidentally. But he knew it wasn’t. He couldn’t help but press against the hand, secretly yearning for more as the mage’s lips and teeth drove him insane in such a short amount of time.

“Dorian…~” he whimpered as the Altus kissed his way to his earlobe, only to continue at his neck. 

His hips couldn’t help but move against the hand, but he was too proud to beg. He wouldn’t give in to Dorian’s demands that quickly, but he also couldn’t help the dizziness rushing through him. It probably was the mixture of the blood flow and the wine. 

“I love it when you moan my name like this, Amatus.” The cocky mage whispered against his heated skin.

His lips left marks where they touched him as his hand slowly vanished within the elf’s trousers. They were so close to the goal as they stretched over the smooth skin above his cunt, the touch so very teasing as Revassan wanted nothing more but to be touched.

But Dorian wouldn’t give him what he wanted. Not just like that.

“You’re such a… a prick.” Revassan stuttered out, his brain unable to focus on anything but the heat and the wetness.

“I am, but admit it, You love me for it.” Dorian chuckled against his neck, leaving another mark behind after sucking the sensitive skin. Revassan felt every tooth dragging over his skin and the soft sensation of the mage’s lips as it pressed right against him.

But Dorian was right. He loved this man more than anyone else.

“Dorian…” a moan broke past the elf’s lips again, his hips grinding wantonly against the hand touching anything but his pulsing clit. “Pl… Please.” he gave in and fought his pride, not caring if anyone would see them.

All that he wanted was Dorian.

“I told you. You would eventually start begging.” The altus chuckled just as his hand traveled lover to rub Revassan’s clit. “It’s alright,” he added in a soothing voice as the elf moaned underneath his touch, his fingers curling firmly into his clothes. 

“I take care of you,” Dorian promised softly, his hand never stopping its circling motion as it pressed against the elf’s engorged clit.

It drove him insane. The sensation, as much as the knowledge of being handled in the Empresse’s gardens, was too much. He didn’t know what to think since all his thoughts became a heated blur, his hips thrusting into his lover’s hands on their own. 

It didn’t matter anymore where they were or what they did. All that mattered was that Revassan was here and the heat rushing through him, wanting more. And what he wanted right now was to find release within his lover’s hands.

“I’m close.” he moaned, his forest green eyes hooded and foggy when he tried to make eye contact.

“Then come for me, Amatus,” Dorian answered, his voice hoarse since he couldn’t hide his own desire. “Come,” he added in a whisper, his lips gently sucking at the tip of Revassan’s pointed ear as his hand kept pressing firmly against his sweet spot.

He didn’t budge when the elf found his release within his hand, hips stuttering as his cunt clenched around nothing.

For a moment, he felt shaky. Only the body of his lover could keep Revassan from falling onto the ground as his heart rate went up. He almost felt like he was bursting, and everything around him was a blur.

But he felt Dorian’s warmth and strength as it held him, the mage’s aftershave so prominent in his nostrils.

Revassan could’ve fallen asleep but forced himself to regain a clear head. No one was around them, just the two of them sharing a heated embrace as the elf slowly came to his senses.

“What about you?” he asked hoarsely as one of his hands softly brushed questionably against Dorian’s bulge. 

“How about we join the party for now, and you repay me after we retire to our quarters?” The altus whispered against his ear, cleaning his hand with a handy spell and giving Revassan a moment to make himself decent again.

“You think anyone can lend us any silk shawls?” 

[transandersrights]

Would love to see some m!Lavellan x Dorian with the prompt "It's so easy to forget that there's magic in all of this" -Sleeping at Last, Body

(I take prompts! See info here)

Thank you for the prompt to this lovely song! (I wrote most of this p late at night two weeks ago so I don't remember how this premise was linked to the song. It is, though!)

For @dadrunkwriting, 1k of post-canon Pavellan angst into fluff :)

The end of the day rolled around, and Dorian was alone yet again.

It was like that yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that… endless halls of an endless legacy-palace-prison, echoes of past crimes baked into the shining bricks that welcomed him home. It would be like that tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that — constraining walls and the same office floor to pace over and over again.

He was tired. He was always tired, at the end of the day, what with the endless wheedling and scheming and all those things he used to think would be so exciting if he actually got to use them for something he believed in. Turned out it was just dangerous, and that wasn’t nearly as thrilling as he used to think it was when his father came home in the rose-tinted robes of boyhood idealism with another tale of an assassin in a covert meeting place.

Dorian could walk through to his library, if he wanted. Ages of history watching him, judging, and a book he could lose himself in if his eyelids weren’t already drooping. If he wanted to walk instead to the garden there were the plants he had to hire a gardener to take care of, roses he chose but had no one to give to.

At least, no one who’d be able to receive them before the flowers shrivelled into nothing. Funny, how long a distance really was. The other side of Thedas was the same as the other side of the city when it came to someone as busy as Ilassan, but endlessly more of a chasm when Dorian just wanted to know what he was doing today rather than three weeks ago.

If he went to the kitchen, he could eat a meal alone, prepared by the chef he hired on the weekends to cook his meals for the week. In the sitting room, he could sit with no one at all, just like he had for the last few months because his friends were usually around for business, not pleasure.

In his office… no. Not so late, with the moon already high in the sky and half the city in bed. There was always work to do — he had to draw a line.

Bed it was. Just like yesterday, the day before, and the day before that. Just like tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. The endless cycle of his life, so rarely interrupted by anything worth noting. The wheel he’d turn for the rest of his life in the hope that someone, at least, was feeling the effects of his hard work.

At least he was tired enough to sleep well. Probably.

So Dorian climbed the lonely stairs, walked the lonely landing, and opened a lonely door to his lonely bedroom and tried, really, not to feel too sorry for himself. He wasn’t good at it, but he had to try. For his—

“Amatus?”

For a fraction of a moment, Dorian was convinced someone had replicated Ilassan’s form in a perfect doppelganger meant to catch him off guard. And then Ilassan smiled, that tiny, wry little thing, and everything else in the world melted away.

“Surprised?” Dorian’s feet moved unbidden towards his voice. His face had to be an absolute picture in that moment. Yes, he certainly was surprised.

“You didn’t say a word!”

Ilassan’s face creased again, and in the lamplight his freckles were as constellations to a sailor, guiding Dorian home again. “I didn’t know when I’d be able to get into the city,” he admitted. He gestured to the pack on the ground, which almost certainly did not contain anything resembling his official credentials as former Inquisitor, one of the most important southern figures in the entire Imperium.

“I could have got you in with a click of my finger,” Dorian pointed out. Ilassan shrugged. He looked good, happier than the last time Dorian saw him. That wasn’t hard, seeing as last time they were parting, and that always… well, it never got any easier.

“And then everyone would know I was here.” Rather than just Dorian. And rather than having all their time to themselves, this would turn into something else entirely. Dorian could understand.

“So you… how did you get in?” Dorian knew that, when it came to the man in front of him, assuming there was anything he couldn’t do was ludicrous. Still, there was always something. Another surprise stacked on top of the near-impossible feat, his brightness so blinding Dorian could almost imagine what dwarves felt, coming to the surface for the first time.

“Oh, you know.” Another shrug. Always the shrug, the nonchalance, like he wasn’t about to say something utterly ridiculous and make Dorian fall in love all over again for the thousandth time. “Climbed over the wall? Disarmed an enchantment. Unlocked the door with your key.”

Unbelievable. Wonderful. And his Ilassan, same as ever. Dorian could only make a noise of exasperated fondness, ripped straight from his heart up through his throat, and jolt towards him like he was no longer in control of his body. “Come here already.”

They always waited to close the distance between them. Dorian didn’t know why; the tradition had developed at some point, over the years, and he’d long since missed exactly when it just became what they did. But now Ilassan launched forward right into his arms, letting Dorian lift him (just a little) and spin him around (not all the way — Dorian had never quite had the upper body strength for that).

“I can’t quite believe you’re here.” He’d thought it would be months before they’d manage to carve time out of their respective schedules to get any time worth having.

Which begged the question: did Dorian have the guts to ask how long he was planning to stay? Would he rather count down the days, or wait until Ilassan felt it wouldn’t be too sad a prospect?

“Well, I am.” Ilassan smiled again, leaning in until their foreheads touched and their lips were only a whisper apart, and Dorian decided he didn’t care.

The night stretched out ahead of him, and he wasn’t alone anymore. Nothing else in the world mattered in that moment.

[halla-hunts-the-wolf]

Lavellan Tells a Story

On their way to track rogue apostates, Inquisitor Lavellan tells a story to his companions.

Featuring: Mahvir Lavellan, Dorian Pavus, Varric Tethras, and Cole!

Length: Short & Sweet.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

"There is a story among the Dalish," Inquisitor Lavellan says as he walks amongst clefts in the hills. His years of outdoor experience allow him to avoid rock falls and loose stones, while his companions stumble and slip behind him.

"Right." Dorian chides, his foot catching on rough ground and causing him to stumble into the elf's back. "Now seems like the perfect time for stories."

"It's always the perfect time for a story, Sparkler." Varric fires back, clinging to the back of Cole's leathers so the young boy could guide him safely down the path.

Mahvir reaches back with a gloved hand to steady his mage, and Dorian takes it as an opportunity to draw his staff. The Tempest was a dangerous weapon, pillaged from a demon-infested temple within the Western Approach, but today it would be nothing more than a walking stick.

"Very well," he huffs, missing the warmth of his lover's hand as it moves away. "You lot have your fun, while I try not to die."

They continue their descent, creeping amongst the hills in the Hinterlands. This was the first place the Inquisition had gained influence and yet the war continued.

Rogue Templars in the area clashed with apostates who refused to join the Inquisition. Both sides thought they were fighting for a higher cause when in reality, they were putting innocent people out of their homes and killing themselves out of pride.

"So the story," Mahvir continues as his gaze maps out safe routes down the rocks. "The Goddess Andruil catches Fen'harel hunting her Halla in the forest and demands satisfaction. As Fen'harel is tied to a tree to be held hostage for a night, he is sentenced to serve Andruil in bed for a year and a day-"

"That's not as righteous of a punishment as I'd expect from a God." Varric comments.

"I suppose we all have our vices." Dorian agrees.

"While Andruil is setting up her camp for the night, a forgotten one, known as Anais, flew into her camp. He claimed that Fen'harel had also wronged him and he demanded satisfaction as well." 

"This is a violent story," Cole remarks.

"Most of them are." Varric soothes.

"They decide to duel for their right to Fen'harel, while he watches from his place against the tree. He eventually calls out to Anais and tells him of a weak point within Andruil's armor. Anais heeds the wolf's advice, and as Andruil falls to the forest floor, he turns to regard Fen'harel..."

Dorian chuckles lowly, despite himself. "Turning your back on an enemy? A novice mistake for anyone."

"Anais didn't see Andruil rise from her place nor her arrow coming until it protruded from his abdomen. Both now unfit for battle, they sit beside the camp's fire.  As they are forced to tend to their wounds, Fen'harel chews upon his binds, and escapes."

There is a moment after the story ends where the only sound is their footfalls, the soft clanking of Mahvir's armor, and fighting in the distance.

"A lovely story, Amatus." Dorian finally says, skidding down a few feet as his staff dislodges a small boulder. "That Fen'harel is a tricksy bastard."

"You think we are like Fen'harel?" Cole offers, there is something hidden within his voice, but the other three men easily dismiss it as his usual touch of whimsy.

"The Inquisition, yes." Lavellan's voice carries softly and lacks an echo among the the rocks surrounding them. A fresh cloud of smoke, caused by an invasive fire, had caught his attention.

His ears twitch.

After another moment of silent consideration, he continues. "We make enemies on all sides and maneuver our way out of danger. The mages and templars, Celene and Gaspard, The Grey Wardens and Corypheus..."

"We do end up in the middle of things quite a bit, don't we?"

"I'm half afraid I'll start praying to Fen'harel before this business is done," Mahvir says. He seems genuinely bothered by this admittance. A weakness shared among friends. "The Creators know that I could use some of his cunning, in the days to come."

"Why do you need his when you have your own?" Dorian challenges. He knew the Inquisitor well enough by now to recognize when the elf was on the hunt.  He'd already prioritized a plan, by the time the fire's smoke had reached the sky. "The plan?"

"We're going to drive the mages' into their fire and smoke them out. Once it enters their lungs, they'll lose focus, and we can handle them quietly."

"I suppose I'll be dispelling anything they throw at us," Dorian says, already thinking of the smoke and ash that will be clinging to his robes.

"While Cole and I box them in?" Varric finishes off, already pulling Bianca free and fondling her trigger.

"I'm not equipped for stealth," Mahvir announces. Leaning back on his heels just for his armor to creak and his grappling chain to rattle. "I will keep watch and warn you of any reinforcements. Keep an ear out for a robin's call."

"A whistle, amidst flames and fighting?" Dorian sounds dubious.

"I will hear it," Cole says, his face shadowed by the brim of his hat.

"If we can take the mages out quickly, we can take the Templars by surprise. I'll join the battle then, and hopefully, this road can be open for travel and trade within the next few days."

"Ah yes, the Inquisition's most important duty; returning commerce to Thedas one hovel at a time."

They reach the base of the hills just as Dorian finishes speaking, and Mahvir steps out to hide amongst the trees that had not been struck or burnt down by some miracle. "Get the job done here Dorian, and we may see less of Fen'harel in the future."

The mage's staff begins to glow- its decorative skull rattles with ambient magic- as its sunken eyes begin to gleam with a faint purple light. "As you say, Inquisitor."

The apostates do not live long enough to see their fire scourge the Hinterlands, nor do they get the satisfaction of seeing their enemies struck down in their stead.

The first caravan of the season travels down this war-torn road not two days later.

While the Inquisition and Fen'Harel remain, as always, in the middle of things.

[blarrghe]

Rating: M | Category: M/M | Words: 57 707 | Chapters 27/29

Read from the beginning

Summary: 

When Magister Dorian Pavus' expedition meets unexpectedly with a clan of unhappy Dalish elves, First Taren Lavellan may be the unhappiest among them. Unhappier still to be put to the task of helping to see his quest through. This is the tale of how a fortnight in the forests of the Free Marches can change everything.

Chapter 27: A Promise Made

Snippet: 

The paths of the forest opened before Taren like easy green curtains. The wind was with them, the weather too. Dark clouds sat heavy in the distance, but above them the skies were but a misty grey. The morning damp and fog lifted into a shady humidity beneath the cover of the trees, calling the insects to bite, but the way was clear. They followed the line of the cliff’s edge back to the point where the buried entrance of the ruin had collapsed, and then on towards the east, where hunters and horses should have been coming around in full circle to meet them. Progress was swift, easy, and in the correct direction. 

It didn’t make any sense. 

At midday Taren conferred with Aldheraen, asking him to etch their marks into the trees before they marched on. They should have come upon the hunters’ tracks by now. The Imperial highway’s rubble of an overgrown road was not far off. They should already have come upon their men, their horses. 

Taren listened to the air, still and quiet. He sent up a flare of bright magic as the sun began to set. 

DAFF list: @warpedlegacy @rakshadow @rosella-writes @effelants @bluewren

@breninarthur @ar-lath-ma-cully @dreadfutures @ir0n-angel @inquisimer

@crackinglamb @theluckywizard @oxygenforthewicked @exalted-dawn-drabbles @melisusthewee

@agentkatie @delicatefade @leggywillow @about2dance @plisuu

[phoenixxheart13]

Chapter 23 of Love & Magic: The Inquisitor's Tale is now available!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62390101/chapters/162036010

Art: Comm for me by Jennifer Milanono

[justcallmefox89]

Love and War

Part 1 - Disdain

“They’re not the most sociable of creatures, are they?”

Varric blinks, mug of ale raised halfway to his lips as the Tevinter mage casually slips into a chair on the opposite side of the table.

“Those two,” Dorian repeats, waving his hands towards a far corner of the Haven tavern, where the Herald and Solas sit huddled together, their dinner plates pushed away and discarded in favor of a rather hefty tome.  The two elves share a faint grin as Solas points towards something in the text and the Herald responds, hands moving emphatically to accentuate his point.  “They sequester themselves away, barely interacting with others… and the Herald barely spoke to me at all during our time in Redcliffe, which is quite a feat given our little misadventure there.  It makes me frightfully curious about the two of them.”

Varric snorts into his mug.  “Normally I’m all for prying into the business of others, but I’ll sit this one out.”

“Are you afraid of the Herald and our hobo apostate, Master Tethras?” Dorain’s eyes gleam with mischief as he teases the dwarf.

Varric grunts and rolls his eyes, taking a sip of ale.  “I’m not the one who needs to be afraid of Rajmael.”

Dorian arches an eyebrow, intrigued.

“I’m sure by now you’ve heard all about how Cassandra and Leilana recruited the kid.”

The mage raises one hand and languidly waves it side-to-side.  “It sounded more like a forced conscription than a recruitment but carry on.”

“The kid wasn’t raised to have the highest opinion of humans and thinks the Maker is some human fairy tale that’s worth less than a pile of nug-shit, now he’s forced to play leader to a group of people he despises in the name of a god he doesn’t believe in?  He’s had better months.  Especially since Cullen foiled his last escape attempt.”

Dorian chuckles briefly, sobering when he realizes that Varric isn’t joking.  “You’re serious?”

“Andraste knows how he did it but a few days before you showed up in Redcliffe, he managed to slip past the guards and steal a horse from the stables without anyone noticing.  Cullen and a few of his men caught up with him eventually; kid was riding hell-bent for leather back to his clan.  If they’d been just a little slower, they never would have caught him.  That patch of hair on the left side of the Commander’s head that a bit shorter than the rest of his curly locks?”

Dorian’s eyes widen.  “No…”

Varric’s brown eyes twinkle with barely concealed amusement.  “Leilana said it was a very close thing.  Rajmael really didn’t want to come back to Haven.”

“I see…” Doiran hums thoughtfully, circling the rim of his wineglass with the tip of one forefinger.  “And after all that they just let him wander freely?”

“Well now that they’ve touted Rajmael as the answer to all our demon problems they can’t just lock him up back up, can they?” Varric shrugs, taking another mouthful of ale.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Cassandra had a “friendly” conversation with Solas and asked him to keep a closer eye on the kid.”

The Tevinter’s amber eyes sweep over the pair of elves again, a touch more observant his time around.  “Like that between them, is it?” he murmurs.

Varric rolls his eyes.  “Get your mind out of the gutter, Sparkler.  There’s just an… understanding between them.  Solas loves to talk people’s ears off about the Fade and spirits and Rajmael is more than happy to listen and learn anything Solas is willing to teach him.  As far as I know they’re the only two in Haven who have more than a few words of elvhen and that’s the language they both prefer to speak.”

Dorian’s eyes unconsciously seek out Sera in the hubbub of the crowded tavern.  “So how do they feel about…?”

Varric follows his gaze.  “Solas treats her like a child and Rajmael acts like she doesn’t exist.  Why are you so interested anyway, Sparkler?  From what I can tell neither one seems particularly concerned with getting to know you.”

“Which is odd, because I am endlessly fascinating…  Handsome, intelligent, charming, unbelievably gifted in magic... they should be clamoring to be in my presence.”   Dorian stands, glass of wine in hand.  “I must rectify this immediately.”

“Andraste watch over you,” Varric mutters, only half in jest as he watches the Tevinter saunter through the small tavern towards the two solitary elves.

“Good evening, Herald.  Solas.  May I join you?”  Dorian barely waits for Solas’s nod of acquiescence before sliding in the seat directly across from the Herald.

“Can we help you?” Solas asks, his tone politely distant. 

Rajmael’s eyes flicker up to meet Dorian’s momentarily, then lower back down towards the book on the table in front of him. 

“I thought perhaps we could become better acquainted since we’ll be working so closely with one another for the foreseeable future.  Saving the world and all,” Dorian responds offering them a charming grin.

Solas hesitates, glancing over at Rajmael.  “That is an understandable request,” he says slowly. 

The corner of the Herald’s mouth twitches, as if he wants to object, but he ultimately chooses to remain silent.

Dorian focuses his attention on Rajmael, gesturing towards the tattoos that adorn his face.  “So I take it you’re… Dalish?  Is that the correct word here?”

Two pairs of eyes stare at him with a slightly frightening intensity.  Solas’ lavender eyes hold a faint trace of disapproval, while Rajmael’s are a tumultuous storm of grey fury.

“You’re more accustomed to ‘slave’, I take it?” Rajmael retorts acidly.

“We… don’t have Dalish clans coming northward for… obvious reasons.  So I’ve never met one of your people before, although I’ve heard about them.  A little.  I hope this won’t be an issue between us.  I am here to help you deal with the Venatori, after all.”

“Not by my choice, shem.”

Dorian frowns, not knowing what the unfamiliar elvhen words means but recognizing that it is clearly some sort of insult.

“Lethallin.”  Solas’ tone is firm and faintly disapproving.

“Ir abelas.”  Rajmael ducks his head, tucking a lock of long white hair behind his ear. 

Dorian absent-mindedly notes that his ears are slightly larger than Solas’, the tips a bit more pointed.  And currently colored a faint, embarrassed pink at Solas’ rebuke. 

“Our apologies.”  Solas inclines his head towards Dorian.  “Slavery is a… sensitive topic among the elvhen people.”

“Ah.  Yes.  Well.”  Dorian uncomfortably sips his wine.  “That is certainly understandable.”

“Is it?” Rajmael asks snidely.  “Your homeland is the center of the slave trade.  Do you own slaves?”

“Not personally, but my family does and treats them well.  Honestly, I never thought much about it until I came south.  Back home, it’s… how it is.  Slaves are everywhere.  You don’t question it.  I’m not even certain many slaves do.”

“It’s how it is?” the Herald hisses, rising slightly in his seat, leaning over the table nearly nose to nose with Dorian. 

Solas tenses but makes no move to draw the younger elf back down into his chair.

“You think slaves like it that way?  You think they enjoy emptying your chamber pots and fulfilling all of your petty whims?  When you crawl into their beds at night?  Don’t be stupid, Lord Pavus.”

 Dorian scoffs. “In the South you have alienages, slums both human and elven.  The desperate have no way out.  Back home, a poor man can sell himself.  As a slave, he could have a position of respect, comfort, and could even support a family.  Some slaves are treated poorly, it’s true, but do you honestly think inescapable poverty is better?”

Rajmael’s delicate features twist into a scowl.  “At least they have a choice.  At least they’re free.  They don’t have slavery forced upon them.”

“You think people choose to be poor and oppressed?  I doubt it.”

“And what would a man who has only ever known luxury know of the minds of the poor and oppressed?” Solas interjects; his voice soft but his tone pointed. 

Dorian grits his teeth, feeling cornered.  “Abuse heaped upon those without power isn’t limited to Tevinter, my friends.  I don’t know what it’s like to be a slave, true.  I never thought about it until I saw how different it was here.  But I suspect you don’t know either, nor should you believe that every tale of Tevinter excess is the norm.”

“I am not, nor will I ever be your friend, shem.”  Rajmael stands, the legs of his chair scraping against the stone floor.  “I have witnessed what the elite of Tevinter do to their elvhen property, and despite your pathetic protests to the contrary, I know that my people would rather die than live as shem slaves.”  

Rajmael gathers up the tome and various papers from the table, anger making his movements sharp and jerky.  With a final, furious glare in Dorian’s direction he stalks out of the tavern, Solas at his side.

Dorian sits in silence, stunned and irritated, barely noticing when a familiar dwarf settles across from him in a recently vacated chair. 

“So…” Varric grins.  “That looked like it went well.”

[tevinterwine]

[ wine-tongued ] : l i n k

“I refused to push the topic in the rotunda with so many curious ears around but now that we are alone I’ll ask again and I rather you don’t avoid answering,” the Inquisitor spoke as he filled Dorian’s glass with red wine, the finest he could find at Skyhold. Yellow eyes met clouded grey. “Are you alright ?”  

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