#dorian x varlen

[trashwarden]

“Varric? Are you ok?” Happy Birthday to @thereluctantinquisitor !! I made you something quick from Bareback in the Frostbacks - A Majestic Love Story aka the fic that still cracks me up hahaha thank you for always being there

[reluctantwrites]

The measure of a man

Thank you for the prompt - some long-overdue Pavellan it is! In which Varlen’s insecurity spikes when he realises there are a lot of differences between his knowledge and Dorian’s... (approx 1500 words) <3

Prompt from THIS LIST.

“Am I not enough for you?”

Dorian started, the words arriving like a slap to the face.  His hands, which were already gripping the edges of the tome he was studying, tensed almost painfully, his knuckles bleeding to white as Varlen’s words – his sudden accusation – sunk in.

“You know, part of me doesn’t even want to dignify that with a response.” Turning, Dorian fixed Varlen with a sharp look. “Varlen. Amatus. If you cannot tell by now how deeply I care for you, then I’m not sure there is anything I can say to convince you otherwise.” He sighed tightly, reaching up to rub his eyes. When was the last time he had slept? “May I ask what in the Maker’s name brought this on?”

“Well, what am I supposed to think?” Varlen was standing at the far side of the room. Their argument, because apparently they were arguing, passed back and forth through the empty air between them. “You spend so much time in here, with your books and your scrolls and your tomes. It feels like it’s all you do now! And I can’t even understand half of them, and then the other half are all to do with magic, which again, I don’t understand. Even when I try, I feel like I’m just in the way or slowing you down, a-and… and at some point…” He broke off, his once-sharp gaze sliding away, the anger melting into something impotent and uncertain. Distressed. “Just… answer the question, Dorian.” He swallowed tightly. “Please.”

For a handful of moments after Varlen’s outburst, all Dorian could do was stare at his amatus, dumbfounded and at a loss for how to reply. “Varlen, the research I am doing here is to aid the Inquisition. To help your sister. It is important.”

“I know.” Varlen’s voice was rough. Hoarse. His gaze remained fixed on the side wall, head turned away. “I know it is. I just…” He pulled in a shaky breath. “How can you stand it? Being with someone like me when you’re so…”

Genuinely not sure where Varlen was going with the thought, Dorian cocked his head. “So…?”

“Smart.”

The way Varlen admitted it… it was almost heartbreaking. No, there was no almost about it. He’d practically spoken the word to the floor, as though just saying it aloud confirmed something he had been trying to ignore; trying to hide.

Oh, that simply would not do.

Dorian closed his book with a soft thud, the pages so stiff they creaked like old wood underfoot. “Varlen…” He rose from his chair, bones protesting, muscles aching as he stood. He ignored it. “Amatus, look at me.”

Even Varlen’s body language, his arms wrapped around himself, screamed uncertainty. Discomfort. Shame. But at Dorian’s instruction, he did as asked, those pale blue eyes rising until they made connection across the empty space. Holding his gaze, Dorian began walking towards him, his approach slow and careful. As he moved, he began to speak, his words forming just as slowly and carefully as his steps.

“You know, I have met a lot of people who call themselves smart. Scholars. Politicians. Intellectuals, if you like. There are many such people, in places like Minrathous, who believe that the measure of a person’s worth lies in the depth of their lexicon. The breadth of their understanding of an absurdly narrow field. Their willingness to…” Dorian ground his teeth for a moment, but pressed on, the distance between himself and Varlen closing. “Their willingness to push the boundaries and discover the unknown at the expense of the moral. At the expense of themselves, and everyone around them.”

Varlen was shaking slightly. Dorian could see it now, as he came within a few feet of the elven man. It was something he should have – would have – noticed before, had his vision not been so closely aligned to the proximity of pages. 

“I don’t understand,” Varlen said softly. Even that small confession seemed to further ingrain his belief that he, for some unfathomable reason, was not enough.

But Maker, that was so far from the truth.

Reaching out, Dorian slid a hand past Varlen’s cheek, barely brushing his skin. His fingers nestled softly in his hair, caressing him, curling gently around the back of his neck as Varlen hung his head, seeming for all the world like a man about to break. And for what?

“Varlen… promise me you will never bow your head because of people like that.”

Confusion seemed to replace shame for a moment, and Varlen stiffened beneath Dorian’s touch. “What?”

“Promise me,” Dorian continued firmly, stepping in until they were so close he could feel the warmth of Varlen’s breath mingling with his. “That you will never think yourself inferior to people just because they know more words, or have read more books, or can recite dead languages to a room full of people just like them in everything save name.” He breathed out, tipping his head forward, gently touching Varlen’s forehead with his own. “I certainly don’t, amatus. Not for a single moment.”

There was something in Dorian’s voice; a plea mixed with a promise of his own. A rawness that might be because he was just too tired to cloak his words in bravado, or simply because he needed Varlen to believe what he said was true. And it was true. Every word of it.

Slowly, Varlen’s hand rose to wrap around Dorian’s arm, tentatively pulling him closer as though afraid the move would be met with rejection. It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I just… I know we’re so different. I keep thinking that… that it would be so much better for you, if you had someone who could actually help you.”

“You do help me.”

“How?”

Dorian’s free hand found Varlen’s; threaded their fingers together. “You keep me sane. Keep me grounded. You show me what it means to be open to people. To ideas. To change.” He gave a soft, endlessly fond laugh. “You show me which plants will leave my stomach in knots for days, and which will cure a headache. You show me every single day that there is more to this life than what I can learn on the pages of a book.” He smiled gently. “And might I say, no scholar, politician, or intellectual has ever been able to show me that.”

Varlen snorted, a faint smile curling his lips, a sheepishness to the expression that sent Dorian’s heart to its knees. “Even sleep-deprived and stir-crazy, you somehow manage to be disgustingly charming.” Dorian chuckled at that, and Varlen released a slow breath, some of the tension in his shoulders flooding out with it. “It’s just hard, to feel like you can’t be something. It’s like to be smart, you have to fit certain criteria. You have to be worldly and knowledgeable and wise and you need to have learned from the right books and listened to the right people speak and… a lot of other things I’ve never done.”

Dorian just shook his head, his hand tightening slightly around Varlen’s. “You know, I have it on remarkably good authority that very few smart people fit that criteria either. But that is beside the point.” He leaned back slightly to look Varlen in the eyes. To really look, and see the man who had won his heart with a smile moments after they met, and kept winning it over and over again every day since. He did it with who he was. With what he did, and continues to do. With the way he treats others and the way he faces the world time and time again, no matter what it throws at him. “So, if you want my opinion, no. You’re not smart, Varlen...” Dorian leaned in and kissed him, their lips lingering even as he felt Varlen’s brow crease in brief confusion at the mixed message. “You’re brilliant. Charming. Bright and with endless wit.”

Varlen’s hands shifted to wrap around Dorian, pulling him closer as he let out a  quiet laugh. “Yeah, like you’re one to talk. I think I got a lot of it from you, you know.”

But Dorian just shook his head, caressing Varlen’s face with his hand. ��No. You are you, Varlen. And with every dusty tome in this god-awful place as my witness, there is no one else I have ever learned more from.” He smiled, then kissed him again. Varlen made a quiet sound - something like a sigh - his hands loose and relaxed on Dorian’s back as they held each other, awash with the warmth and relief of being in one another’s embrace.

In the end, it didn’t need to be said, but Dorian said it anyway. He said it because it was the truth. He said it because his heart demanded him to.

He said it for all the times in Varlen’s life when he hadn’t heard it.

“Varlen, you will always be enough.”

[kurogoesinthedas]

Happy Birthday @thereluctantinquisitor! I’m so sorry this came late ;w; but I couldn’t not draw you at least some warm cuddles T^T  I hope you like it ;w; thank you for being such an amazing person ♥ 

[thedragonblessed]

@thereluctantinquisitor Here I am with more drawings of Varlen and Dorian because I just can’t help myself and think about them too much. I wanted to draw them when they both just woke up <3 

[thereluctantinquisitor]

"this was a mistake" dorian/varlen (humor or angst, whichever you want)

“This was a mistake.”

Varlen yelped and whimpered as Dorian hit a snag, the mage murmuring an apology as he attempted to untangle the utter wreck that was Varlen’s hair.

“Mistake is putting it rather lightly.” The concentration in Dorian’s voice was clear, the words slow and meticulous as he worked the comb. “What in the Maker’s name possessed you to swim in… in…” He groped for the right term. “That.”

Admittedly, the water had looked nicer at a distance. In the dark.

Nicer and less… muddy. 

“It was night. I was drunk.” Another snag. Varlen curled his hands into fists on his thighs. “TSssss… figured I could get you in, too.”

“Me?” Dorian laughed outright at that. “Amatus, tempting as you are, I would have to be on fire for you to get me into that brackish pond. Even then…”

Varlen groaned. “Okay. I get it. Dumb move. Loud and clear.”

Chuckling softly, Dorian continued working through his hair. The worst of the mud was out, but the twigs and leaves had managed to knot themselves between the strands. It was quite the exercise in patience. Needless to say, Varlen was grateful Dorian possessed it.

The mage cleared his throat. “You know…”

Dorian trailed off, and Varlen turned as far as he could, trying to catch the man’s expression. “What?”

“We could… take this somewhere more comfortable.”

Oh?

“Like where?”

“I hear the baths here are large enough for two.” Letting go of Varlen’s hair, Dorian moved around and smiled his usual charming smile. “Think of it! Warm water… scented salts… shampoo… soap…”

Varlen allowed himself to be lured in by the suggestion.

For a moment. 

“The mud stinks, doesn’t it?”

“Wretchedly.”

[thereluctantinquisitor]

For the Fluff sentence prompt, please. Dorian/Varlen. "What are you doing?" *tries to hide something.* "Nothing..."

“What are you doing, amatus?”

“Nothing!” The word came out as more of a shocked squeak - Varlen had thought he was alone - and he cleared his throat quickly. “Uh, nothing. Nothing at all. There is… not a single suspicious thing going on here. Nope.”

Varlen trailed off to the sound of Dorian’s fingers thrumming against his crossed arms. “A rather intense protest for an innocent man,” the mage mused as he entered the room, eyes trained on Varlen. “Enough to make one think… what are you up to?”

As Dorian approached, Varlen suddenly sat on his desk, legs dangling protectively over the drawer on the left hand side. He nudged it fully closed as quietly as he could, attempting to distract Dorian from the movement. “What, a guy can’t drop in to see his vhenan just because he missed him?”

A smile curved Dorian’s lips. “Of course he can… but it’s a mite more effective when said vhenan is actually present, wouldn’t you agree?”

Fenedhis. He was good, but then again, Varlen already knew that. “Well, you’re so hard to pin down, I kind of just have to guess where you’ll be at any given point during the day. Hardly my fault.” He glanced aside as Dorian reached him, trying his best to maintain the facade. “Last time I went to your research area I nearly got fried, remember?”

Dorian winced, clearly recalling the incident quite vividly. “There is a reason we do not allow disturbances in the middle of experimentation, amatus. It is as much for your safety as it is for ours.”

“I know,” Varlen said hurriedly, not intending to guilt Dorian for what had happened, “I’m just saying, that’s why I came here instead…” He trailed off, glancing down at the desk suspiciously. “Unless you’ve stuck wardings and sigils around here, too. In which case, I should probably know about them so I don’t set any off…”

A smooth chuckle rolled up Dorian’s throat and he leaned in, gently taking Varlen by the chin and guiding their lips together. “Amatus, there isn’t a spell in existence that could keep you out, and frankly if there were, I would not cast it.”

Varlen hummed appreciatively as he stole a second kiss from Dorian. “Good,” he murmured after a moment, then drew away, smiling. He paused, eyes on the mage, expression thoughtful, then continued, “Do you want to know why I’m really here?”

Dorian arched a brow. “Only if you wish to tell me.”

As someone who had always been hopeless with keeping a secret, Varlen broke under what could be described as the smallest application of pressure. “I got you something. For the new year.”

“The new year?” Dorian cocked his head. “I didn’t know such a thing was celebrated with gift giving. Had I known…”

“No! I mean, it normally isn’t.” Reaching out, Varlen took Dorian’s hands in his, thumbs rubbing soothingly across his skin. “I just wanted to. I figured you might like it. It’s nothing big or anything, just something I thought of the other day and…”

Varlen trailed off with a sigh and shifted, uncovering the drawer. Dorian glanced from his amatus to the desk until Varlen, red-cheeked, gave a quiet groan. “Please, just… put me out of my misery. I’ve made enough of an ass of myself already.”

Laughing quietly, Dorian did as asked, opening the drawer to find a brown paper bundle tucked rather awkwardly among the papers and quills. “What is this?” he asked, gently coaxing it free of its prison. When Varlen just rolled his eyes and made a ripping gesture, Dorian placed the parcel on the desk and unwrapped it, revealing an assortment of barks, glass vials filled with some kind of tiny crystals, and a strong-smelling cylinder of what appeared to be tea. “Quite the care package,” Dorian noted fondly, glancing at Varlen. “Are you worried about me, amatus?”

Varlen shifted slightly. “You’ve been working harder than ever. I just thought I’d get you some things to help you relax.” He pointed to the bark. “If you burn that, the scent is meant to help with stress. The crystals are for the bath - happy to show you how those work, by the way. And the tea… well, it’s tea. It’s warm and it tastes good.”

Humming appreciatively, Dorian set the gift aside and returned to Varlen, maneuvering himself between the elven man’s legs and embracing him. “Thank you, amatus. That is… all very thoughtful.”

Varlen could hear the sincerity in Dorian’s voice; feel the man’s exhaustion as he leaned against him, the embrace turning into something of a collapse as he rested his head on Varlen’s shoulder. Gently, Varlen pressed a kiss to the side of Dorian’s head.

“How about we try out those bath crystals, hmm? I think you’ve done enough for today, vhenan.”

Softly, faintly, Dorian mumbled his agreement, but didn’t seem inclined to move. Smiling warmly, Varlen just let him rest against his chest for a time, hands running soothingly up and down the mage’s back.

In a minute…

[thereluctantinquisitor]

72 + Dorlen for the drabble challenge 👀

#72 - “Justsmile, I really need to see you smile right now.”

Pavellan. Dorian Pavus x Varlen Lavellan. Set the night of Dorian’s departure for Tevinter (just after Trespasser). Approx 800 words

Sometimes,Varlen wished he knew the perfect thing to say. Standing in the doorway leadingto the balcony, gazing silently at Dorian’s back, he knew he had to get it right. After all, this would be a moment he replayedover and over again in his head. A single wrong word would infest his sleep;plague him endlessly as he lay alone in an empty bed. The pressure of it all sent a tremor to his hands, and he curled them tightly in defiance, nails biting crescents into his palms. This was going to be his memory. In his memory, he would notshake.

“Ihope you aren’t planning to spend the entire evening in that doorway.”

Varlenstiffened in surprise, head snapping up to catch Dorian looking back at him,one hand resting on the railing, the other loose at his side. He seemed so…calm. Resigned, perhaps, or maybe that was just the emotion Varlen desperately wanted to read. Some kind of assurance that this was beyond either of their control. Thatit had to happen.

“Sorry,”he said quickly, stepping onto the balcony and out of the shadows. “I was just…thinking.” The moon hung high above them, spilling its pale light over theornate stones of the Winter Palace. Most would look sickly beneath its glow,but not Dorian. It caught the colour of his eyes just-so, filling them to theirbrim. The light flowed over him like water, never fullytouching, glancing off the embroidery of his coat. The clasps of his travel cloak. Varlen’s fingers ached to reach out;to feel Dorian lean into his touch the way he always did. It seemed such a simple thing. 

Creators, he knew how badly he wouldmiss it.

Dorian’sexpression tensed slightly at Varlen’s words – no, not that! – and he turned away once more, gaze pensive as it drifted out over thepalace grounds. “Yes… I imagine there is much to consider. After everything thathappened here, that is.” He closed his eyes, pulling in a long, slow breath.Exhaling. “I am sorry, you know. For adding yet another item to the list of things you mustendure.”

BeforeVarlen even had a chance to fret over the perfect words he was shaking his headand stepping forward, moving quickly to Dorian’s side. “No. What? Dorian, don’t saythings like that. I understand. This…well, it’s something you need to do.” Silencedrifted in around them for a moment, soft and feather-light. For once, Varlen did not feel guilty to break it. “I’m sorry, too.About your father.”

Aquiet snort. Dorian opened his eyes, theweariness that had pressed him for days revealing itself with sudden clarity in the lines of his face. “To be perfectly honest, I’m notentirely sure what to make of it all. Not yet, at least. It seems… rather distant. Like someone else’s bad dream.”

Varlen nodded his understanding, reaching a comforting arm around Dorian’sshoulders. The mage made no protest, instead choosing to lean into the embrace.It was nice. Familiar. A good memory, even without the perfect words.

“Isthere anything I can do?” Varlen asked gently, his voice barely above awhisper. “To help? Or to… I don’t know… make this easier?”

He felt Dorian shake his head. “Amatus,I doubt the Maker himself could concoct anythingto make what we are doing any easier.” He reached up, tangling his fingerswith Varlen’s. It was as though they could not stand close enough. “If he can, letit be known that I formally invite him to do so. Truly. He has full permission to astound me.”

Normally,Varlen would laugh at Dorian’s habit of challenging the gods to impress him. He had this way of making it seem as though he was doing them a favour. But thistime, Varlen just wished whatever was watching would take him up on it. Something gnawed away at the hollow of his chest; that fear of ruining the memory. Less a fear and more a certainty. There was simply no way to portray the words thatgrovelled deep down inside him. The feeling of knowing he wanted to spend everylast day with Dorian. That ache of knowing he couldn’t.

“…There must be something,” Varlen repeated softly, swallowing against the tightnessthat squeezed his throat, and for a time, neither of them said anything. Theysimply stood side-by-side, gazing out over the gardens of the Winter Palace, pretendingthey could stretch the moment into hours. Pretending to ignore the chariotwaiting by the gates.

“Just…smile, amatus. I really need to see you smile right now.”

Somethinginside Varlen hitched at that; painful, like the severing of a heartstring. For a second, he panicked, thinking Dorian had asked for the one thinghe could not give. Not now. Not then.Horrified, Varlen realised that even in their final moment together, he would let Dorian down. 

His memorywould be of Dorian walking away disappointed.

No. I won’t let it.

So,Varlen smiled.

He smiled and turned to Dorian, pressed a kiss to the man’slips, closed his eyes, felt the warmth of him at his side. Dorian melted into it, angling towards Varlen, gloved hand sliding along the railing, coming to rest on Varlen’s waist.For a moment, they could hold each other on that moonlit balcony, and let themselves smile. 

And for just a moment, it almost seemed like everything would be okay.

[thereluctantinquisitor]

“ at some point i realized i would never come first. ” for Varlen :o

It’s always the small things that speak the loudest truths. The wandering of a gaze. The flickering of attention. The itch of limber fingers as they yearned for a book with a far more interesting cover. At first, Varlen had dismissed the signs, assuming he was being paranoid. Ridiculous. After all, that’s what was often said of him, and it took a stronger man than he to not be swayed by such prolific rumours. 

But the day he realised the truth, it had stung harder than anything he could have ever imagined.

“I am returning to my homeland. To Tevinter.”

Those words. Thick with conviction; so thick that there was no room between the letters for anything else. No room for doubt. No room for him. They rose to meet Varlen so quickly that he thought he might be crushed by their weight. Instead, he faced sad, quartz-grey eyes, begging for understanding. For approval. For anything.

“… Amatus?”

That word. A word for him, yet suddenly so foreign in a way that had nothing to do with language. Varlen watched, mute and pale, the colour pulled from his skin by a single sentence. He shook, but in an insidious way that concealed itself beneath his skin. His hands remained limp by his sides.

“Come now. Say something, yes?”

Say something. Say what? He’d said so many words over the months they had spent together, and fool that he was, Varlen had assumed some of them had led Dorian to love him. Or at least care about him. Perhaps both were too strong a sentiment for what they had shared. Perhaps he had just been too deep in denial to see it. Too caught up in a moment that wasn’t even there.

Dorian stepped forward after that, reaching out, that familiar hand of his coming to rest on Varlen’s shoulder, the other brushing his cheek. Sweeping back his hair, cupping his face in a show of worry. It was all a show, after all. It had to be. 

He was such a fool…

“When?” Varlen managed to ask in a voice thin as mist. Dorian was kind enough to ignore the pitiful nature of the sound. 

“Soon. As soon as I can, amatus.”

Soon. Varlen let his eyes close, the effort of keeping them open - of seeing his face - too much to bear. He shook his head and stepped back, the perfect warmth of Dorian’s hand leaving his skin. Then, standing there, close enough to touch but far enough to forget, Varlen realised a harsh, fundamental truth.

I will never come first.

And how could he? In a game of cities and nations and peoples, what was one man? A single being couldn’t possibly claim to be worth more; certainly, Varlen couldn’t. He was not worth more. He was barely worth the space he displaced in every room he walked into. Of course Dorian wanted more. He wanted to make a difference; to be the change Thedas needed.

Varlen just wanted him. 

Of course, Varlen had been told all his life that he suffered from a chronic lack of ambition, but for once, it had felt like enough. And perhaps it still could be. Perhaps coming second to the world was not such an awful thing.

So, he forced a smile, lips drawing thin as he stretched them against their will, trying to coax the expression into his eyes. “Good.”

Dorian raised his brows at that, no doubt surprised by the simplicity of the statement. “Good? Just… good?” He shook his head. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, vhenan.” Varlen stepped forward, half expecting the floor between them to give way and send him plunging, refusing to bear the weight of a liar. “You have a duty to your people. I understand. It’s okay. Really. I’m okay.”

I’m not okay.

Dorian smiled, mirroring Varlen’s, catching a piece of it to wear as his own. It always looked better on him. “Then… I am glad, amatus. Truly. That you would trust my judgement on this… it means more than you can imagine.”

Trust. Yes, Varlen supposed he did trust Dorian. He trusted the man to do what was best, if not for himself, then for the grand scheme. The bigger picture.

When they embraced, it was easier. Easier to let the smile waver. To hold Dorian tight against him, feel his warmth, and know that his ambition burned far brighter than Varlen’s ever could.

It was simply a shame, after all, that Varlen had always preferred portraits. 

[thereluctantinquisitor]

New year prompts, 3 for Dorlen? :)

3. Person A and B are strangers and fight over the last bottle of champagne at the store. 

Pavellan. Dorian Pavus x Varlen Lavellan (modern AU). Approx 1800 words, most under the cut

Varlen hated New Year’s Eve. Not because it meant that thelast year, which had inevitably been crappy, was drawing to a close, but becauseit meant he was expected to start all over again. Get some resolutions. Puthimself out there. Meet people. Now,trudging down the aisle of the bottle shop in his sweatpants, all Varlen wanted to do was buy the mostexpensive bottle of champagne he could find, go home, and drink it through afunnel.

He sniffed, reaching up to rub his nose as he considered hisNew Year’s Eve plan. It had already been partially ruined the moment he steppedinto the store. Varlen had asked one of the staff where they kept their bestchampagne, but of course, it was eleven-thirty at night and they were all sold out. All that was left wascheap swill, and while Varlen supposed it was more fiscally responsible, it wasalso depressing.

Maybe I should justadd soda water to wine while I’m at it, he thought miserably as he arrivedat the correct aisle. Really lean intothe whole ‘alone on New Year’s Eve’ aesthetic.

Lost to his own dark musings, Varlen barely bothered toregister the naked shelves, already cleaned out by more discerning drinkers inthe earlier hours of the evening. But as he trudged, he did spot a lone bottle,standing proudly on the top shelf like a soldier who had survived the carnageof war. Joy. Moving towards it,Varlen squinted, attempted to make out the label. It was some strawberry-flavouredabomination, but he supposed it was better than nothing.

However, as he reached out and his hand closed around it, sodid someone else’s.

Varlen started, but did not release the bottle, insteadopting to clutch it tighter. He’d grabbed it around the body, while hisopponent had managed to snag it around the base of its long neck. Livid, Varlenfollowed the line of the stranger’s arm until he reached the source of hisirritation.

“Hey. Back off, I saw it first!”

The man, whose face had initially been one of surprise,furrowed his brow almost immediately, the expression darkening his handsomefeatures. “Oh I rather doubt that. Besides, I had it first.”

“Bullshit.” Varlen attempted to tug the bottle – carefully –but the man refused to let go. Inside, he felt his gut twist, bitter and frustrated.Just this one thing. I just wanted thisone fucking thing. Varlen let out a groan of irritation, reaching up to roughlyrake his free-hand through his hair. “Look, we obviously both grabbed it at thesame time. You didn’t have it first.”

The man gave a thoughtful hum, then Varlen felt somethingwarm wiggle beneath his palm, pressed tight to the bottle. He hadn’t noticedbefore; perhaps he would have if the champagne had not been sadly stewing atroom temperature. Glancing across, Varlen realised it was the stranger’s pinkiefinger, trapped between the palm of Varlen’s hand and the bottle.

Damn it! He really hadgrabbed it first.

The absolute bastard.

“I…” Varlen trailed off. He had lost. But still, he didn’tlet go. He needed this. If he actually did resort to wine and soda water whenthe year rolled over he might just roll himselfright out the window of his fifth-floor apartment. So instead, he looked overto the man, meeting his eyes for the first time. They were a startling palegrey; quartz-like. Brilliant. Feeling oddly warm, Varlen made a show of clearinghis throat. “Listen. I’ll… pay you whatever that bottle costs. Just let me walkout of here with it.”

The offer clearly came as a surprise to the man, and heraised his dark brows, regarding Varlen for a long, silent moment. “A… generousoffer,” he began hesitantly, eyes flicking to the champagne, “particularly forsuch a modest vintage. Although, it does leave me wondering what I might bemissing. Should I accept, that is.”

At that, Varlen let out a dry snort, rolling his eyes. “Nothingto write home about, trust me. There’s probably a reason it’s the only bottleleft. I bet dish-soap would leave a better aftertaste.”

The man chuckled, nodding in agreement. Clearly his mind hadarrived at a similar conclusion. But damn,he had a wonderful laugh. “Indeed. Tell me then; why the offer?”

Why offer to paydouble for something probably worth half its ticket price? It was a goodquestion, Varlen supposed. He hesitated, however, tongue absently sweepingacross his lower lip. This man was a complete stranger. He owed him nothing.

But then again, this man was a complete stranger.

So what did it matter if he toldhim everything?

“Just… figured it was the thing to do,” Varlen mumbled afteran extended, surprisingly uninterrupted pause. “Y’know. Because it’s New Year’sEve. You’re meant to celebrate, right?” He hesitated, but the man neither spokenor released the bottle. “I’ve… screwed up plenty of stuff this year already. Iguess I just… didn’t want to start the next one wrong too.” A dry laugh bubbledup the back of Varlen’s throat. “Figured I could at least get this right. But look at me now. Pouringmy heart out to some random guy in the bottle shop, fighting to pay ten dollarsfor a five dollar bottle of flavoured champagne.”

“Sparkling wine,actually,” the man corrected, reading the label of the bottle from betweenVarlen’s fingers, but the comment didn’t strike Varlen as mean-spirited. Ifanything, there was something akin to solidarity in it, and they both shared a bleaklyamused look. “Well… to be perfectly frank, this entire situation strikes me assomething of a failure for both of us. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Varlen winced at that, but couldn’t deny it. So he nodded,then let out a sigh, his grip loosening on the bottle. “Yeah. You’ve got apoint.” He started to let it go. “Sorry for… all of this. You’ve probably gotsomewhere to be.” Lucky him.

“Actually… I don’t.” To Varlen’s surprise, he felt thebottle being pushed back against the palm of his hand, and when Varlen’sfingers closed around it once more, the other man released it, a faint smiletinging his lips. I normally don’t likemoustaches. But I really like his. “As much as I would, ah, enjoy choking down that poison inpreface to another year of lost causes, I simply cannot bring myself to rob youof the pleasure.”

They both laughed at that, softly and a little shamefully,the way one laughs in a library when reading the back covers of D-grade romancenovels. But they held each other’s gaze through the moment, Varlen’s smilewidening in gratitude as he slid the bottle from the shelf and held it. His cheapskate trophy. Then, slowly, hedrew his lower lip between his teeth, pulling on it thoughtfully as he regardedthe sparkling wine in his hand.

“Would you…uh… like to suffer with me?”

The other man raised his brows, a distinctly amused gleam inhis eyes. “I must admit, I have been asked out many times, but never quite so honestly.”

“I’m an honest guy,” Varlen replied with a chuckle, thenwaved the bottle in the air; a mockery of enticement. “C’mon, what do you say?It’s eleven-thirty, and I live nearby. If we walk at a moderate pace, we mightjust make it in time to stare at the clock for fifteen minutes.”

The man barked a laugh and regarded the bottle, then Varlen.It took him the whole of three seconds to make his decision. “Very well, then!Consider myself persuaded. After all,I am never one to turn down a free drink in a questionable neighbourhood.” Hesmiled to show he meant to offense, then reached out, plucking the bottle fromVarlen’s grasp before he could even think to protest. “But if you are to host,then I will bring the poison. A fairtrade, yes?”

“Sure, I won’t argue with that.” Varlen shook his head,smiling as he fell into step beside the man, heading for the register. “Oh,right. I’m Varlen, by the way.”

“Dorian. A pleasure.” He glanced across, smirking slightlyas he raised the bottle. “I would shake your hand, but I fear mine are somewhatoccupied with precious cargo.” He paused when Varlen gave a dismissive wave – no harm done - then added, “I have tosay… this has been quite the unexpected turn of events.”

Well, no one was arguing that. “Yeah. Tell me about it. HereI thought I’d spend New Year’s drowning my sorrows and passing out on thebathroom floor. Now… well, looks like I’m going to have company doing it.”

“Do remind me to toast to that,” Dorian said as he paid forthe bottle, handing over a rumpled five to the miserable looking cashier… thenadding another as a token of sympathy. With their prize nestled safely in theembrace of a paper bag, Dorian turned and nodded towards the street. “Well, Varlen…lead the way.”

Smiling, Varlen gave a mock-bow and moved forward, the belldinging as he pushed open the door and held it for his new friend. “I hope you’reready for this,” Varlen said as Dorian moved past with a hum of thanks. “Youdon’t really strike me as the type to indulge in strawberry flavoured sparkling wine. No offense. Your shoes are waytoo expensive for that.”

“Come now, how else to you think I was able to afford them?”Dorian chuckled as Varlen grinned and began leading them back to his apartment.“Life is entirely made of compromises, I am afraid. But not to fear – you alreadygave me the perfect solution, should the taste be as terrible as promised.”

Varlen cocked his head, brow furrowing slightly. “I did?”

Dorian nodded. “Yes.” Then he smiled, his white teethflashing playfully against his dark skin. “I will simply chase it with dish-soap.”

Varlen let out a long, horrified groan. “Disgusting. Terrible.” Then he, too, succumbed to agrin. “I love it.”

They walked for a time, conversing with surprising ease,casting baleful looks at drunk revellers staggering down the road to their destinationsof choice for the big countdown. Eventually, they came to Varlen’s building; anarrow thing nestled meekly between two far nicer ones. Fishing his keys out ofhis coat pocket, Varlen headed up the stairs, Dorian close behind – almost nervouslyso. The jingling of keys and rustling of their paper liquor-bag provided theonly form of distraction from the sounds of dull music and carousing thatdrifted from the buildings nearby. But, for the first time, Varlen wasn’tenvious of everyone else. He glanced back and was greeted by a smile fromDorian, who raised the paper bag and wiggled it in mock-seduction.

Maybe this wouldn’t besuch a bad night after all…

[thereluctantinquisitor]

“You–uh–spooked…my heart.” for Dorlen because honestly I can actually SEE Varlen saying that line xD

Pfff this is PERFECT VARLEN DIALOGUE indeed! Many thanks, friend!

Pavellan. Dorian Pavus x Varlen Lavellan (approx 1500 words)

“Come on, Varlen –dance, yeah? Get out there! Shake your butt or something!”

The sound Varlen madein response to Sera’s urging was akin to a wounded animal begging for the sweetrelease of death. He shook his head, a tall drink of something in one hand, the other fighting for freedom as Seratugged it insistently towards the dance floor. “I don’t want to,” hecomplained, attempting the subtle art of wriggling free without spilling hisdrink. “I just want to drink and go home, Sera. You’re the one who wanted toparty.”

Fixing him with a flatgaze, Sera heaved a sigh and released him dramatically, the way one drops asoggy sock. “What, so you got all dressed up and stuff just to decorate thewall?” She gestured to Varlen’s costume, one brow arched so high it nearlyvanished beneath her fringe. “Can’t have been easy wriggling your way into that.”

In a sense, she wasn’twrong, but it really hadn’t been Varlen’s fault. At the last minute, he hadordered a batman suit online, but when it finally arrived… well…

Let’s just say he hada whole new appreciation for catwoman.

“I can’t dance in this,” he protested, gesturing at theoutfit. “I can barely breathe in this!” He groped around behind him, then brandisheda long, thin strip of black fabric. “I have a tail.”

“Pshh.” Sera justrolled her eyes. “Be grateful you’re not in heels or nothing! Now go on. Tenminutes.” She nudged him in the ribs playfully, swapping to a sing-song voice.“Dance for just ten minutes and I’llstop bugging you…”

Some battles were notdesigned to be won. Varlen let out a tight breath – mostly courtesy of the suit– and took a long, deep, steadying drink. “Fine,” he gasped once he had drainedalmost half the glass, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand and slappingit down on a nearby table. “Ten minutes. Then I’m going home and peeling myselflike a banana.”

Sera snorted at that,giving him a push in the direction of the dancefloor with the heel of her palm.“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“No stripes. Not funny.”

“Sourpuss.”

The dancefloor was asmuch of a nightmare as Varlen had anticipated. He winced, music throbbing loudas a heartbeat on a silent night, and he swore his own was breaking its properrhythm to match that of the bass. It was always an uncomfortable sensation, particularlythe more he thought about it, but he reasoned he only had to put up with it forten minutes.

What could possiblyhappen in ten minutes?

He started to move;small, awkward steps at first, not entirely sure how to dance to thatparticular style of music. It was so fast that he doubted it had been designedfor human beings. But he gave it his best, certain that Sera was lurkingsomewhere just outside the dancefloor, watching, making sure he upheld his endof the bargain. More people joined in the fray, and soon there were bodiespressed tight against Varlen, blocking his view of pretty much everything butsweaty skin and the alarming amount of fake blood. Always with the fake blood. Monsters and ghouls and sexypretty-much-everything jumped, bounced, raised their arms and shook their hair aroundhim. Varlen tried to share their enthusiasm – to lose himself in the cacophonyof noise and sweat - but fell so far short of the mark that he wasn’t even sureit existed.

It was all too much.The heat, the bodies, the loud, thumping, angry music. The catsuit. Varlen was pretty sure he might sweat himself into a stateof dehydration if he didn’t extract himself from the makeshift mosh-pit soon,so he started wriggling, trying to push his way through an imaginary gap. Hewasn’t short by any means, but the press was a difficult thing to fight. Justas he was considering dropping to the ground and waiting for some burly mandressed as the Hulk to notice and carry him to safety, someone grabbed him bythe shoulder and pulled sharply backwards.

Yelping, Varlentipped, throwing his arms out but meeting little more than the forearms andwaists of the other dancers. Just as he began picturing his fate, trampled to deathby Sexy Spongebob, he was caught beneath the arms and extracted from the thronglike a child from a pool, and probably twice as soaked. Gasping, Varlen pulledout of the person’s grasp and whirled, ready to give whoever had manhandled hima piece of his mind. But the angry tirade lived a short and futile life at theback of his throat, dying before it even reached his lips.

Standing before him,tall and dark and dazzling, was the most beautiful Grim Reaper Varlen had everseen.

Death – because Varlendid not know his name – flashed him a smile, raising his hands in a placatinggesture. “Apologies. You seemed a mite distressed. I thought I might lend ahand.” To emphasise the point, he turned one gloved hand, revealing theembellishment that gave it the appearance of something skeletal. Varlen wasstill reeling from the shock of being faced with quite possibly the mosthandsome man in existence, but Death clearly took his silence as a bad sign.“I… hope I did not frighten you, snatching you like that. Small window ofopportunity, you see. It was then or never, lest you succumb to the undulatingmasses.”

Blinking, Varlenregained a modicum of composure and shook his head, a blush crawling up hisneck. Or perhaps it was heat stroke. Hard to tell in a catsuit. “N-No! No,that’s not… I wasn’t—”

Say something charming, the voice in Varlen’s head screamed as hestammered through the sentence. Look himin those gorgeous grey eyes and be witty you lycra-swathed muppet!

“— You–uh–spooked…myheart.”

Sometimes, Varlentruly wondered why he ever left the house. The blush that had been lingering onhis neck boiled up to the tip of his ears and Varlen winced, reaching to hidehis face in his hands. Oh god. What wasthat? Spooked my heart?!?

Then… laughter. Lowand amused and almost… fond. In sheerdisbelief, Varlen lowered his hands and fixed Death with a hesitant look, apart of him certain the man was about to mock him and stride away. It would bewell-deserved, all things considered, so he braced himself for it.

But instead,quartz-grey eyes caught Varlen’s, and a smile spread across that handsome face.“Well… that is undeniably a new one,I will give you that,” he said, echoes of laughter chasing the words from hislips. “I have always found myself rather drawn to originality.” His gazeflicked down, a brow rising in what was either approval or horror. Or both. “My.That is an… interesting choice incostume. Bold, if I do say so myself.”

Varlen felt the urgeto wrap himself in a towel or something. At that point, being naked wouldprobably be preferably – at least he wouldn’t be so damn hot. But considering he did not have a towel or enough time to freehimself from his lycra prison, he did the next best thing.

He planted his handson his hips, struck a pose, and owned it.

“You like it, huh?” heasked, the redness of his face doing its best to betray his attempt at bravado.“Figured I’d try something a little different, y’know? Shake it up a bit. Rockthe catsuit.”

Death arched his brow,but the smile never left his face, even as his gaze drifted back up from itsappreciative lingering to rest on Varlen’s face. “Oh, I do,” he replied simply, in a voice smooth as velvet. “I imaginethat was quite the task to slip into. And out of.” He blinked, as thoughremembering himself, and held out one skeletal hand. “Where are my manners; DorianPavus.” He smirked. “I would have you know the name of your mysterious rescuer.After all, I intend to take full, unashamed credit.”

Varlen grinned, takinghis hand. “Not so mysterious, now that I know who you are,” he remarkedplayfully. “I’m Varlen. Thanks for the save back there. It was getting a littleclose for comfort.”

They smiled at eachother. Shook. Stopped shaking. But for whatever reason, neither man let go. Amoment passed, then two, the pair of them just standing there, staring at theirclasped hands, the music thumping, the dancers cheering and jumping andspinning, the lights blazing past to the rhythm of the DJs booth. Yet, even asthe ‘shake’ stretched well beyond the point of traditional comfort, neitherseemed even slightly willing to break contact.

“Do—” Dorian began.

“— you want to get outof here?” Varlen finished hurriedly. Both men broke into matching chuckles, andDorian nodded, a glittering sharpness to his gaze that made Varlen’s knees goweak.

“Excellent.” Heturned, throwing back his cloak, gesturing gracefully towards the door with thehand not currently holding Varlen’s. “Now… care for a date with Death?”

Varlen’s grin justgrew wider. “Hell yes.”

[thereluctantinquisitor]

Hi! I'm in love with your fics. If you ever want to fill a prompt, here's one for you: Varlen getting seriously injured while Dorian is out adventuring with the inquisitor, and only finding out after he gets back to Skyhold. It's not life threatening, and it's probably not as bad as it looks, but Dorian is incredibly worried either way.

Probably not quite what you were looking for, but have a little hurt!Varlen and worried!Dorian @chaitea09)

“Welcome back to Skyhold, Inquisitor.”

“Herald! Welcome back!

The chorus from the guards atop the gate left a faint smileon Dorian’s face as he glanced across at Riven, who sat with back straight,head held high. Quite the picture, hethought, nodding to himself. A fineleader in a time rather lacking fine leaders.

As if sensing his gaze, Riven glanced across, blue eyesnarrowing slightly in curiosity. “Is something wrong, Dorian?”

Dorian chuckled, a playful smile spreading across his faceas they crossed the bridge and entered Skyhold. “Why, not at all. You cut quitethe figure these days, Riven. Inquisitor.It is a rather humbling experience. I am not sure how I feel about it.”

He winked, and her expression softened until she let out asoft laugh of her own. “Yes, well… you and I both, it seems. Humbling is afitting word for it.”

They dismounted and stable hands hurried to lead theirmounts to the stables to be cared for. However, after taking only a few steps,another figure hurried up. One of thescouts, Dorian noted with a touch of disdain. The man always seemed vacant.Glassy-eyed. He couldn’t begin to imagine what he might want.

“Ah, Inquisitor? The advisors request your presence in theWar Room.”

Dorian noticed the slight slumping of Riven’s shoulders andhe extended a sympathetic hand, giving her arm a light squeeze. “No rest forthe wicked, yes?”

“It seems not.” Nodding her farewell, Riven turned on herheel and headed for the stairs. It had been a trying journey for them all.Dorian would just be grateful to find his quarters, draw a hot bath, andperhaps share it with…

“… Uh, Ser Pavus?”

“Oh, what is it now?”Dorian hadn’t truly meant to snap, but he was exhausted and conversation with thatmoist towel of a man was not high on his list of priorities. “Go on, spit itout then. I have sand in places sand has no business being.”

The scout flushed, clearly flustered before the curt mage. “I-I-I,ah, it’s just, I was asked by the Inquisitor’s brother to give you a message.”

Dorian stared at the scout. The scout stared back with thosevacant, watery eyes. After a few seconds, Dorian rolled his. “Oh please. Pray tell.”

“He’s in the infirmary.”

Varlen nearly leapt out of his skin when the door to his roomwas thrown violently open and, in a burst of crackling energy, Dorian thunderedinto the room. He looked a mixture of worried and furious, but as Varlen wincedhe hesitated, clenching his fists and forcing himself to calm. “You wouldthink,” he began through gritted teeth, “that in a place such as this… someone would have made note of whatroom you were in.”

For a moment, Varlen just stared. “You… didn’t make thatkind of entrance every time, did you?”

A wry smile twisted the corner of Dorian’s mouth. “Oh, onlythe last five or so.” He sighed, reaching up, running a hand over his face ashe closed the door behind him. “Amatus, what happened? Are you well?”

Shamefaced, Varlen just shrugged, glancing down at his lap. “Yeah… well,you see, I was ah… training, and oneof the recruits just happened to—”

“Amatus.”

“… I was taking a nap up a tree and fell out.”

Dorian stared at Varlen. Varlen stared at his hands, fingers fidgeting nervously on his lap. “Well,” the mage began eventually, walking to the side ofthe bed and settling down at its edge, “that… is something. Did you hu—”

“I’m sorry, Dorian,” Varlen said suddenly, the wordsbubbling up alongside the threat of tears. “I didn’t mean to! I just… I don’t know. I do stupid shit and make everything harder for everyone and it’s no wonder I g-get left behind and nobody trusts me to do anything and I j-j-just…”

Varlen had no idea why he was crying. It was so silly. But there he was, sniffling andsobbing, somehow unable to stop. Dorian, too, seemedalarmed by the turn of events, and he reached out, wrapping Varlen’s face inhis hands, his touch tense with alarm. “Amatus, what’s wrong? Tell me, are you in pain?”

Still sobbing, Varlen shook his head vehemently and immediately regretted it as the world swam. Dorian frowned, athoughtful look crossing his handsome features, eyes searching Varlen’s face. Creators, he was so handsome. Varlen didn’t deserve someone likeDorian, who would stay with him even if he started wailing and choking on tears for no apparent reason.

“What happened when you fell, Varlen? Can you remember for me?”

Despite his majestic transformation into a blubbering mess,Varlen managed to choke out an answer. “I… h-h-hit my h-head…”

That handsome frown pulled even deeper and Dorian shiftedthe placement of his hands, sliding them gently back into Varlen’s hair. Atfirst, Varlen thought it was a sweet attempt to calm him down, and perhaps it still was,but then he felt those careful fingers feeling along his scalp, probingtentatively. “Did you tell the healers?” Dorian asked, his voice utterlycalm, his expression one of concentration mixed with concern. Sniffling,Varlen shook his head.

“D-Didn’t seem all that bad… I just—aAH! Ow - Dorian!”

“Apologies,” the mage said hastily, easing off as Varlen startedcrying all over again; huge, hiccuping sobs. “Well, that settles it. I believe you have a concussion,amatus. Nasty blighters, those. Have you been feeling at all irrita—” Dorianpaused, then snorted gently, his mouth easing into a fond smile as he wiped histhumb across Varlen’s tear-stained cheek. “Ah… never mind. It’s allright. You’ll be fine. I’m here. Come…”

Nodding and blubbering, Varlen just tipped forward andburied his head in Dorian’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around the man andsobbing into his coat. He had no idea why he couldn’t stop – he didn’t even feel particularly sad or hurt aside from the headache building behind his eyes. Whatever it was, it was overwhelming, like he had all these tears and nowhere to put them. So, with Dorian at his side, Varlen just letthem rush out, hard and fast, until finally there was nothing left togive. All the while, Dorian held him close, making gentle noises and rubbingsmall circles into his back.

“There… feel better?” Dorian asked gently when the sobbingfinally subsided. Face still buried, Varlen just nodded, sniffing andshuddering occasionally as he fought the far weaker urge to start all over.

“W… What’s wrong with me, Dorian?”

“Head injuries are… tricky things, amatus. It appears thatwhatever was on your mind simply got the better of you. For a time. Not to worry; theworst seems to have passed. But…” Dorian leaned back slightly, reaching down to hook twofingers gently beneath Varlen’s chin, tilting his face upwards. Grey eyes searched teary blue for a moment, then Dorian’s expression softened. “Is there something on your mind? Something we should…?”

“No,” Varlen said eventually, sitting up on his own andrubbing his stinging, red-rimmed eyes. “No, there’s… I’m okay, Dorian. I think I justmissed you. Apparently I knocked myself out a little–”

“A little?”

“–when I fell, and lying here I just startedthinking about…” Varlen shook his head, biting his lower lip as it started totremble again. Sensing the precariousness of the moment, Dorian shushed himsoftly and pulled him into another warm embrace.

“Come now, amatus, no more of that. Everything is fine. I’m not mad, and you are not a burden. Accidents… well, they happen, yes? But… do promise me something.”

Nodding, feeling far more reassured, Varlen exhaled a long, calming breath. “Of course. Anything.”

“Maker’s breath, nap on the ground.”

[thereluctantinquisitor]

15, Varlen and Dorian

Prompt #15 - Trembling Hands (approx 700 words, some under the cut

Pavellan. Varlen Lavellan x Dorian Pavus. Contains non-explicit mention of past abuse.

“I-It wasn’t my fault!”

“Shhh, I know.”

“They made me… made me do it. T-They…”

“Hush. It’s all right. I’m here, amatus. Just breathe. In and out.”

Varlen’s hands trembled as words stuck in his throat like tar. He was wrapped in the thin sheet of a foreign bed. Silk. Orlesian. They were in Orlais. He remembered sluggishly as the luxurious room pulled back into focus, slowly losing the blurry edges of sleep. Sleep that tugged at him. Tugged at him like those hands all those years ago, trying to drag him back. Back to the ground. Across the wood and stones. Back to somewhere he never wanted to go.

A hand brushed against Varlen’s temple, gently sweeping the hair from his face. The motion was distant, on the periphery of both vision and awareness. Varlen blinked, and swore it took a handful of seconds just to complete the simple motion. Then, something warm wrapped around his shoulders. An arm. 

Dorian.

It was too much. Varlen shivered then curled against him, burying his head in the crook of his neck. He smelled familiar. Wine. Parchment. Ink. Wine first, because it lingered sweetly on both their skin. Parchment and ink because he had been writing something before bed. It still stained the tips of his fingers.

Just jotting down a few things, amatus. Give me a moment, then I am yours.

“What were you writing?” Varlen whispered, voice hoarse. He swallowed, desperate for distraction. Begging for anything other than the nightmare that lingered in the dark corners of his sleeping mind, waiting for him to return. The question came out of nowhere, but Dorian remained unfazed. His hand rubbed Varlen’s arm as the other reached around to draw him into something more resembling an embrace. To hold him.

“A list,” Dorian answered softly, keeping his voice low. Soothing. “Of things that caught my eye during the evening’s festivities. Other than the assassins and murder, of course.”

Varlen choked out a laugh, sniffing, reaching up to awkwardly rub the wetness from his eyes through the small gap between his chest and Dorian’s arm. “L-Like what?”

Dorian hummed thoughtfully, and Varlen drew comfort from the way the sound vibrated inside his throat. “Let’s see… a silver sash. A dashing blue tunic. Black boots, all the way to the knee. Long hair, smoothed back into a bun. I had never seen it like that before, you know. I rather liked it.”

Silence arrived for a few long moments after that, lingering in the dim-lit room, spreading to its edges. 

“Dorian… you’re just describing me.”

“Well, what did you expect?”

A weak smile found Varlen’s lips, and he let it stay there for a few moments, hidden against the fabric of Dorian’s nightshirt. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

Dorian’s grip tightened around him protectively. “Nonsense. Didn’t you hear our lovely hosts this evening? I am a wicked Vint. I have an extra eye that never sleeps. Now, where that eye is, I have no idea, but I am not one to argue over semantics.”

He pressed a kiss against Varlen’s hair - he could feel the warmth of Dorian’s breath. It earned him a soft sound, sighed out through tired lips as Varlen all but slumped against him with boneless exhaustion. Slowly, Dorian moved, easing them back down until they were lying flat, their heads caressed once more by the soft, excessively plump pillows.

“Try to rest, amatus,” Dorian whispered. “I’m right here.” They were facing one another, Varlen’s head tucked in that warm hollow beneath Dorian’s chin. The rise and fall of his chest was rhythmic. Reassuring. Without realising, Varlen found himself matching it, coaxed into a steady pattern of inhales and exhales. Soon his tired eyes drifted closed, demanding darkness. 

Then again, it was never really dark. Not when they were together.

[thereluctantinquisitor]

Hello ! For the micro story : 21. Collapse ? :)

Prompt #21 - Collapse (Pavellan, approx 400 words

“You know, I don’t think this is how it usually goes. Usually I’m the one in bed at midday.”

The voice was familiar and Dorian stirred as it trickled through his foggy consciousness. Brow flickering between a frown and a cringe of pain, he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly against the sudden assault of sunlight. Now who had the audacity to put that there?

Groaning, Dorian made to sit up but found a hand was pressed against his chest, halting his movement like a guard at a crossing. He glanced down at it groggily, then followed the length of the arm until it ended at the pleasing form of Varlen. His amatus smiled, but it was closed-lipped and tense with worry, the way one smiles when attempting to bring light to a dark situation. It prompted a most suitable reaction from Dorian.

He rolled his eyes.

“Come now, I am not dead, you know. At least, the ache in my head would suggest otherwise.” It was true. Along with his new-found sensitivity to light, it felt like there were a hundred dwarves with tiny hammers banging away on the inside of his skull. 

“What happened?” Varlen asked, refusing to let go of his concern despite humble reassurance. It was endearing, if Dorian were to be honest. “Last I heard, you were experimenting. Something to do with Skyhold’s defenses. Then I find out you’re in here. Out cold.”

“Yes, well…” Dorian cleared his throat and selected a pane of glass on the nearby window to suddenly find fascinating. “I perhaps… overextended myself. Just a bit.”

“A bit?” Varlen repeated incredulously, reaching out to take Dorian’s chin and turn him back to face him. Dorian breathed a sigh out his nose and sheepishly allowed it. The look on Varlen’s face was almost hurt as he continued. “Vhenan, you collapsed. What if you’d hit your head? Or broken something? What if you had been standing on that damn balcony like you normally do and–”

“All right,” Dorian interjected gently, reaching up to extract Varlen’s hand from his chin and fold it in his own. “All right. Admonishment received, amatus. I will take more care in future. On this matter, you have my word.”

“Oh. Well… good.”

They sat in silence for a moment, holding hands, pointedly avoiding each others’ gaze. Then, like a pair of children who had just realised the foolishness of their spat, they lifted their eyes and found one another again. Something passed between them in that moment. A dual apology; one for carelessness, and one for caring too much. Dorian did not believe the latter was necessary, but he accepted it nonetheless. Through their linked hands, he felt Varlen relax slightly.

“Just so you know, I’m putting mattresses down next time.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows at that. “Oh? Where, exactly?”

Varlen’s face split into a mischievous grin. “Wherever you are, obviously! Good luck explaining that to your colleagues.”

“Oh, I imagine the matter would be rather simple.”Laughing, Dorian lifted their entwined hands and pressed Varlen’s fingers to his lips, smiling against them as they shared a playful stare. “I would simply point them to the elven man napping on one of them.”

[thereluctantinquisitor]

Varlen&Dorian 38 :D

Prompt #38 - Soak (Pavellan - 400 words)

“Amatus, this is not a courtyard fountain. If you continue splashing about like that I can and will flip you over the edge.”

Varlen sighed theatrically but conceded, lowering his hands beneath the water and tipping his head back to rest against Dorian’s chest. Deft fingers continued to massage the sides of his scalp, working something expensive and heavily scented into his hair that was as overpowering as it was pleasant. A strange combination at the best of times, but made positively potent when mingled with the rising steam. 

“If you flipped me over the edge of the tub I would be forced to take drastic measures,” Varlen informed Dorian politely, smiling with his eyes closed, enjoying the attention of skilled hands. “My benevolence has its limits, you know.”

“Is that so? And what, pray tell, might constitute these drastic measures?”

Humming thoughtfully, Varlen gave off the air of deep thought, mostly to buy further time for his scalp to make the acquaintance of Dorian’s fingers. Even with the oh-so-deadly threat of retribution hanging in the air, Dorian hadn’t paused his ministrations for even a second, and Varlen was confident he had heard the shape of a satisfied smile on the man’s lips.

“Well, if I told you…” Varlen began slowly, mouth curling into a smile of his own. He opened his eyes and tipped his head back until he could see Dorian’s face in all its upside-down glory. “… I’d have to kiss you.”

For his part, Dorian made a show of narrowing his eyes in playful skepticism, then committed fully to his role, cocking his head to the side. “Oh? Are you quite sure that is how the saying goes?”

“Yep. Pretty sure.”

Dorian chuckled and leaned forward. Varlen rose up slightly on his elbows until their lips met, soft and warm courtesy of the steam that rolled off the water with all the haste of a lazy afternoon.

“Well shit,” Varlen complained as they parted, easing back down and smiling when Dorian wrapped his arms around his chest, “now I have to tell you. That was sneaky.”

Dorian huffed in amusement. “Indeed. But there is no rush.” He paused and shifted to press a second kiss into Varlen’s soaked hair. “After all, we have all evening to ourselves, for once.”

“Hmm.” Varlen sighed contently, letting himself slip an inch or two further into the water, Dorian’s arms a warm comfort across his upper chest. “So we do.”

[thereluctantinquisitor]

Dorianmance Week -::- Day 3 -::- Post-Trespasser

It was... unexpected, the first time he appeared on my balcony. Let me tell you, a number of alarming thoughts ran through my head at the sound of someone’s boots landing outside my quarters. Assassination. Kidnapping. Extortion. Perhaps all three, given my budding reputation among the other magisters. I was, after all, causing quite the stir. 

But the moment he walked through those doors... the moment he gave me that wondrous smile... 

I’d spent so much of my life knowing I was an outsider. It didn’t matter that I wore all the trappings of my birthright and bore the weight of my responsibilities until they nearly crushed me. I played the part of the perfect magister’s son until the lie began to claw away at a piece of who I was. The moment I realised... it terrified me. I think, perhaps, a part of me has been afraid ever since.

But stepping up to meet him at those open doors... the sight of that familiar blue scarf, that tousled silver hair..

... for the first time since returning to Tevinter, I wasn’t afraid. 

                                                                                                                         With him, I didn’t have to be.

[thereluctantinquisitor]

Dorian: Daggers, amatus? Either you are here because you suspect an assassination attempt, or you are the assassin yourself.

Varlen: Well that depends... are you happy to see me?

Dorian: An interesting question. Or perhaps a threat. Either way... yes. Maker, yes.

Because this mod gave me immense emotions about Dorian and Varlen eventually reuniting in Tevinter, and now I can finally play pretend...