#tales:june

[talesfromthefade]

Dorian Pavus x June Lavellan (Post-Trespasser), for @dadrunkwriting​,  @tevivinter​ & @pedlimwen​​

“Dor-ian,” June shouts loudly, voice bouncing off the walls and high ceiling and rife with disapproval, snatching up the small boy from where he’d been playing on the rug and dashing out of the room in search of his other half.

“Is Daddy in trouble,” the child giggles as the pair of them hastily make their way towards the mage’s library.

“Yes,” June nods, though he’s careful to keep his tone light lest he alarm his small charge as he gently sets him down on the floor, pulling the door closed behind them. “Big trouble.”

“Amatus,” Dorian greets, the bright smile quickly sliding off his face when he registers the look of concern on June’s face. “June,” the Magister ventures setting aside his book to approach the pair with growing concern.

“I thought we had agreed only magical books and theory in the house.”

“We did,” he nods, looking more than a little confused.

“Explain to me then, why I just found Felix playing on a scorched blanket and one of the servants shrieking about there being a demon out on the lawn.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Dorian replies frowning. “I never lie to you, Amatus, not about anything truly important,” the mage insists, failing to entirely hide the way he sounds a little hurt by the accusation and June frowns.

“I know, but I just don’t understand how else-” the elf begins.

“Sparkles,” the small boy cheers ignoring the pair of them and clapping his hands together.

“Sparkles,” Dorian repeats with a groan. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been reading him Varric’s book about us.”

“No, he’s not nearly old enough for that yet, I-”

“Sparkles!”

Suddenly both men’s attention are drawn to the small boy beside them whose hands spark with energy and produce a modest hiccup of flame and smoke. Not Dorian at all, then.

“But he’s just barely six,” June marvels, as Dorian rushes over to scoop Felix up his arms, hugging him to his chest while the unsuspecting and still clearly delighted boy whoops with excitement at his achievement. “That’s so young. He’s just a boy, how is he meant to learn to control this?”

“I’ll teach him,” Dorian interrupts, drawing June in towards him with his free arm to share a familial embrace.

“Did you know, I mean could you- did you suspect that-” Dorian shakes his head.

“No, but it’s going to be okay,” Dorian soothes. “He’s safe. He’s safe, and we’re all together. We’re all safe.” And Maker, June’s never been happier to be living in a land so accepting of those who possess the power of magic, even if he’s still a little wary around it. “I’ll work with him. He can learn to control it,” his lover assures him as June draws in a long and shaky breath. This was, on some level, always a possibility, and whatever it may mean in the days and years to come, nothing, the elf thinks as he watches at the pair of them whispering to one another, could ever bring him to love Felix any less than the day they brought him back home with them.

“Papa,” Felix asks, turning his attention and wide-eyed gaze back towards him once more. “Am I in trouble?”

“No,” June exhales, forcing a smile, pressing in to drop a kiss on their little boy’s brow. “No, Dalen,” he promises softly. “It’s alright. You just surprised us, that’s all.”

“A good surprise?”

“A very good one,” Dorian interjects with a smile and slowly June nods, drawing them both into another brief hug.

“Keep an eye on him for a moment? Someone should probably go see to that demon the servants were talking about.”

“Of course,” Dorian nods with a small chuckle, repositioning Felix where he rests against one hip to offer his lover a kiss. “We’ll go find a good book to read together, how does that sound,” he asks as Felix nods vigorously. “Be safe, Amatus.”

“Always,” June promises.

[talesfromthefade]

June Lavellan x Dorian Pavus, (Zookeeper AU) for @dadrunkwriting​ & @ma-sulevin​

“You have a way with them,” the handsome man whose been lingering at the back of the room assesses as the small group he was talking to slowly disperses.

“The snakes, or the children?”

“Either,” he chuckles, shrugging, “but I suppose I was mostly admiring your way with your little friend there,” the man continues, carefully closing the distance between them and gesturing towards the definitely not little Indigo snake wrapped around his shoulders and one arm. It’s just then that one sleeve of the stranger’s jacket catches a little on his messenger bag, tugging it up to reveal a quite intricate snake of his own, a tattoo, that starts just above his wrist and disappears beneath the fabric of his clothes as it travels up his arm.  “Quite handsome isn’t he?”

“Yes, you are,” June finds himself agreeing before he can give much thought to the words coming out of his mouth. The stranger is chuckling again, and June’s eyes suddenly go wide, cheeks flushed crimson as he very purposefully turns his attention back towards the reptile he’s holding to avoid the other man’s gaze. The snake in question lifts its head, gazing up at him and the other man curiously, tongue flicking out to scent the air. Can he smell his embarrassment? His humiliation, June wonders. Doesn’t seem like that would be all that hard at this point.

“You’re Dalish, right? Lavellan, you said,” the stranger continues, mercifully seeming to side-step his awkward faux-pas. “Are all of your clan such talented animal whisperers? We hear stories up North about the Dalish and their Halla, but I have to admit I didn’t expect any interest or proclivity for reptiles this far South.”

“Uh, no,” June replies quickly, shaking his head. “That’s erm-” he stumbles, still trying to calm his nerves once more. “That’s just me. Reptiles are, well, they tend to be underappreciated. Besides, I’ve always done well with animals. Better than people, most of the time.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, thank you-”

“Dorian. Dorian Pavus,” the handsome man smiles, offering his hand before reconsidering the snake perched upon June’s and withdrawing to offer his opposite one instead, which June carefully shakes.

“Well, thank you, Dorian, I appreciate the thought, but I’m afraid it’s true. Animals and kids- they’re easier for me to read. They’re more honest about what they think, what it is they want. Most of  the time,” he amends thoughtfully, carefully walking back and unlocking the exhibit to replace the Indigo back in his habitat.

“I think I can appreciate that,” Dorian nods. “A bit like you,” he assesses, and once more June finds himself blushing. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has alluded to or called him out on being a bit too direct, but Dorian has only known him for a few minutes, and most of those he was delivering a sort of casual lecture about snakes. He sounds confident, though, in his assesment, and somehow Dorian manages to make it sound as if the trait isn’t nearly as off-putting as others have judged it to be.

“Sooo,” he continues when June finishes his task and turns back around to face him, unnecessarily drawing out the single syllable with a grin. “In the interest of being honest and upfront,” he grins nodding towards him. “What would you say if I told you that I happen to think you are incredibly attractive and I’d very much like to take you out to coffee?” June swallows nervously adjusting and smoothing out the rumples in his shirt, before he can manage a reply. “You’re hesitating. That’s not very sporting, and after all that about transparency. Tell me honestly, am I barking up the wrong tree?”

“No,” June replies, maybe a bit too loudly in his haste, the few people milling about the dimly lit reptile displays momentarily glancing over at the pair of them before turning back to the snakes and lizards. “No, I- I was just going to suggest that you might get your eyes checked,” June smiles ruefully, as Dorian tsks. “But I’d like that. Coffee,” he clarifies. “I’m off in another hour.”

“Splendid,” Dorian beams, clapping his hands together. “Meet you at the park gates, then? Only I would love to stay and chat here some more, but I imagine you have other responsibilities to take care of. I wouldn’t want to get you into any trouble.” June isn’t bold enough to challenge him on that, but can’t help the way an eyebrow raises involuntarily. Even in the short while he’s known him, Dorian doesn’t stike him as one who cares too much about rules or expectations. “Oh alright, I wouldn’t want to get you into any trouble yet,” Dorian corrects with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “They’d probably just try to keep you late  to make up for it, and then we’d miss our date. No fun in that sort of trouble.”

“So just what sort of trouble do you have in mind?”

“Suppose you’ll just have to wait and see,” Dorian winks.

[talesfromthefade]

June Lavellan x Dorian Pavus, for @dadrunkwriting , @contreparry & @apostatetabris

June nods, taking in what the merchant has to say with a growing taste of bile filling the back of his throat. He’s forthcoming, with him, at least, about why he wouldn’t sell the amulet back to Dorian, and what it is that he wants for it. Still, the whole thing feels distasteful. The thought of a desperate Dorian, without a friend in the world here in the South being forced upon this man’s tender mercies for help. He’s tempted to ask just how much it is he paid for the amulet in the first place, to ask Dorian whether it was what the item is actually worth, or simply the best he could hope for. This merchant is savvy, probably doing no less than would any other in a similar position, but the fact remains that he- no one else- stands between Dorian and this important keepsake, and June, though rarely prone to unprovoked violence, would like nothing more than to punch him to wipe the smug grin he can hear and see, even from behind his mask.

The journey back to Skyhold is quiet and long.

Dorian is angry.

June is confused. Dorian made it clear that he wanted to get the amulet back for himself, but the merchant was every bit as direct he would accept nothing less than his pressure for his admittance into the League of Celestine. Despicable as the whole affair was, this is, as the man was no doubt aware, easily done for the leader of the Inquisition. June has every faith that Josephine will apply just the right amount of force and grace to see the situation resolved with as few ripples as possible. June can’t think of any other outcome which would have seen Dorian’s birthright returned to him. Dorian, he hopes, will be happy, eventually, to have his amulet again. That doesn’t make the present where the Altus isn’t speaking to him any more palatable or less uncomfortable, though.

“Please,” June interrupts when he finds him in the library after they return and Dorian finally confronts him about it. “It isn’t what you think,” the elf offers softly, shaking his head as the mage gentles a little, recognizing June’s discomfort and anxiety in the face of their discord. “It’s not you that’s in my debt. I am in yours. This,” he gestures towards the amulet he’s still holding out for him, “it doesn’t begin to cover it, but I’d like to think it’s a start.”

“My debt,” Dorian repeats, looking baffled. June nods.

“I was so lost, afraid, and so lonely. I thought…” he shakes his head. “You're being here- your support- your friendship- your- you,” June falters with a wave to the man in front of him, with a slightly frustrated frown at his inability to articulate just what it is he wants to say. “The whole world is a mess, threatening to crumble around us, sometimes it feels like any moment it’s going to shake and pull me apart, but you… you keep me steady. You give me something to hold on to, without making me feel like doing so is holding you back. You have no idea what that means.”

Dorian shakes his head, wide, beautiful, kohl-lined eyes staring back at him in surprise. “I don’t,” he admits, “but I’m starting to.” He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment, before speaking again. “I appreciate the sentiment and your explanation, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m still not altogether comfortable with this.”

“Why?”

“Someone intelligent would cozy up to the Inquisitor if they could. It’d be foolish not to. He can open doors, get you whatever you want, shower you with gifts and power. That’s what they’ll say, I’m the magister who’s using you.”

“I… had no idea you were concerned about that.”

“I don’t care what they think about me. I care what they think about us.” Dorian shakes his head once more, drawing in a slow, steadying breath. “I am apparently an incredible ass at accepting gifts. I apologize, and thank you,” he offers with a polite bow, slowly closing the gap between the two of them. He pauses there, seemingly uncertain of how best to proceed. This is, while known to most as Dorian’s little corner of Skyhold, still a rather public space. The Tranquil research assistant stands across the rotunda as well as Fiona, and the occasional smattering of others either running back and forth for their Spymaster or doing their own reading or research from their library. June waits, though not entirely certain of what he’s waiting for. There’s a fleeting thought to wonder what it might be like to kiss him, but he doesn’t want Dorian to think he’s only acted in the hope of getting something more from him and their friendship, and he doesn’t want to lose what he already has to selfishness. There are whispers. June’s heard them, whether he wanted to or not, though, the two Orlesian guests in the great hall were so loud he can’t help but wonder if they meant for him to hear. He can’t fathom why.

They’re saved any more waiting, however, as one of Cullen’s scouts clears their throat, and addresses June with a brief apology. Dorian nods in answer to June’s apologetic glance back towards him and slips away.

[talesfromthefade]

June Lavellan x Dorian Pavus, for @dadrunkwriting & @al-fletcher

“Dorian-” June interjects, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Shhh,” he whispers, pressing a quick and ornamented finger to the elf’s lips to silence him as he strains to hear the retreating voices in the hall beyond the door, watches as shadows retreat and early morning sun creeps in towards their feet from the crack under the door.

June waits a moment, then presses a kiss to the digit, delighted as Dorian’s head and attention suddenly whip back to him.

“Vhenan, why are we hiding in a closet,” June asks softly.

“Because it’s been over a month since we were even in the same country and I’ve seen far too little of you these past few days, your Divine, Orlais, Ferelden… It’s little wonder they’re all vying for your attention, but I wanted you to myself. Is that so wrong?” June shakes his head, but Dorian lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head.

“Amatus, you’re entirely too forgiving of me,” he chides, and June can see more than hear the smile in his voice. “This council is bullshit, no doubt, but even I know the talks and the results of them are important. I suppose I just wanted to be selfish, if only for a moment.” Now it’s June’s turn to smile as he cautiously presses forward, feeling in the dark to pull Dorian into his arms and press his lips to his.

“Find me this evening,” June whispers as the pair of them draw back a little, forehead to forehead, pressing a small metal key into his palm, “and I’ll be sure to give you more than a moment.” The elf can feel Dorian’s nose and mouth twitch, his breath as he forces himself to steady it and reign in whatever his initial, or perhaps, far too telling or audible response might be as another pair of footsteps approaches and then recedes once more.

With a final, lingering kiss, and the swish of a blue velvet cloak over his shoulders that clashes terribly with his Inquisition uniform but makes for some kind of excuse for suddenly emerging from a coat closet, June makes his exit to find Josephine once more.

[talesfromthefade]

June Lavellan x Dorian Pavus (Trespasser), for @apostatetabris and @dadrunkwriting

“You are so beautiful,” June whispers softly. Dorian’s still wet skin glistens in the flickering light of the torches and lamps that light the luxurious bathroom. June watches, eyes trailing a few droplets of water as they slide over his shoulder and down his back to disappear at the base of his spine beneath a fluffy towel. “You glitter and shine,” the elf continues admiringly, “even without all your jewelry.”

“Is this your way of saying I should wear less ornamentation, Amatus,” Dorian teases lightly, glancing over his shoulder to where June still rests in the large clawed tub he’s just left.

“No,” June replies quickly with a shake of his head. “Just an observation. Admiration.”

“Oh good. You might have broken my heart if you’d say yes.” June smiles, slowly climbing out and drifting up behind his lover pulling his damp, naked body back against his chest. Not having bothered with toweling off, he half expects some noise of protest or complaint, but Dorian simply melts into him.

There’s a moment’s hesitation, a brief pang of loss as June attempts to encircle him before he remembers, eyes drawn to the stump of his left arm. June does his best to push the thought away and hideaway the flicker of pain and sorrow from his face as Dorian hums contentedly, eyes still closed as he tips his head back against his shoulder. The newly-instated Magister lets his right-hand cover and fingers intertwine with June’s before his left wraps around the stump, pulling it flush against his breast. It is ugly. Wrong. It doesn’t belong near something, someone, so handsome as he is. June swallows, turning his eyes and head away as tears threaten to spill over.

“Amatus?”

Fingers untangle from his own, and Dorian carefully turns about to cup June’s cheek, a sympathy in his eyes that feels almost painful to look at.

“You think you’re not,” Dorian whispers, frowning. It’s not a question, but June supposes it doesn’t need to be. June’s feet itch with the urge to flee as his chest clenches with anxiety, and he knows, even without voicing as much, Dorian is aware of it too. This isn’t a conversation he wants to have. Not one he feels he can have. Again. It’s not a conversation Dorian should have to have over and over again. He’s already offered his reassurances, his promises, June thinks, eyes momentarily dropping to the chain around his neck where the ring he offered him lays against his chest. He doesn’t deserve this.

“Look at me?” With difficulty, June does as he’s asked, a single large tear spilling over his lover catches and gently brushes away with his thumb. The elf fights the urge to shudder as the hand still holding his stump squeezes ever so slightly before fingers caress the bare and scarred skin. “You are as handsome today as the day we met.” June huffs softly, shaking his head. “You trust me, don’t you? Trust me in this. You were handsome then, and you are every bit as handsome now. And I am…” Dorian swallows, shaking his head as he searches for the proper words. “I am so fucking grateful that you are still here with me. That you are alive. June, it’s a miracle. I would have you- would love you in any form.” June’s crying in earnest now, tears streaming down his face, but he can’t help it, cannot hold them back a moment longer. “And I will keep telling you until you believe me,” Dorian promises, “this changes nothing important, and certainly not how I feel about you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Dorian replies, shaking his head, and leaning up to press a kiss to June’s brow, then his nose, then finally a fleeting tender kiss to his lips, before pressing his arms gently wrap around him. “This will take time and getting used to, that’s all. And I’ll be here, and help, however I can.” June chokes on a sob as Dorian pulls him tighter. “Let’s get us both dry and climb into the beautiful, ridiculously large bed they’ve given us, shall we,” Dorian suggests softly. June nods, not trusting himself to speak around the lump in his throat. This can’t have been what Dorian, or even he, had in mind for their room or bed when first they’d arrived at the Winter Palace, even if it is a relief to have finally been discharged from the infirmary, and the elf finds himself fighting another wave of tears as Dorian towels them both off, letting the towel fall to the floor as he takes his hand and guides him back into the other room.

“Lie down,” Dorian instructs, carefully lowering June back onto the bed, making sure he doesn’t tip over as he continues to adjust to his missing limb, before grabbing a small bottle of a sweet, earthy smelling lotion from the bedside table. “Actions speak louder than words, as they say,” he smiles softly, rubbing his hands together to warm it before slowly letting his hands fall to June’s feet. He presses a kiss to the top of each, before taking one between his hands, fingers slipping reverently between each toe, massaging the calloused soles, his ankles, the other foot, then working his lips and hands up each calve, his thighs, hips... He avoids June’s cock where it lies still mostly soft against his leg, but his touches are too worshipful, too patient and focused to mistake this for any lack of interest, rather a recognition that isn’t what’s most needed now. Warm kisses and palms caress his chest, his shoulders… June is so relaxed, half-dozing now he forgets to shudder or pull away as Dorian’s ministrations finally reach his arms, and offer the same firm and loving touch to his amputated arm. He doesn’t shy away from it, but doesn’t linger any longer than he did with any other part of him in a way that would make June self-conscious of it either, before he carefully crawls off from where he’s been straddling him to press himself into the space beside him, pulling the coverlet over them both. Slowly June shifts ever so slightly, allowing the arm that stops just above the elbow to cover where Dorian’s is slung across his hip, before drifting off to sleep.

[talesfromthefade]

June Lavellan x Dorian Pavus (post-Trespasser), for @ellstersmash & @dadrunkwriting

June’s not an expert. Not really. Growing up in the Alienage, or spending his later years with Clan Lavellan has hardly exposed him to the finer things of human existence. Dorian knows a good deal more, even if it’s been a while since he’s been afforded the luxury of being surrounded by such things, though his experience too is limited- mostly to the history and culture of his own homeland and experiences. He wouldn’t, for example, know that the tea set with subtle Avaar pictorials the shopkeeper is currently pouring some lovely lavender-smelling tea from for June to sip while he browses, may well be the most valuable thing here. He might appreciate a small memento from the South that isn’t completely covered in dogs, though.

June takes a sip from the cup he’s offered and considers, thoughtfully. Price is no object, Dorian has assured him that much, but it hardly makes sense to buy anything too large and have it shipped across the Sea. There’s little need for it anyway. At best, June’s aesthetic can generally be described as practical. Functional. “Boring,” Dorian often teases. He doesn’t mind. The house is- well, it will be theirs, the elf thinks, a little voice that sounds much like his lover’s butting into his thoughts to correct him. But it was Dorian’s first, and it’s been so long since June had a roof over his head besides Skyhold, he can’t say as he cares very much how it’s decorated so long as there’s some consistency throughout, nothing competing too much with one another or for his attention. Dorian appreciates the finer things but seems to understand this about him.

The tea set is nice, though. Small. Delicate, certainly- the sort of fragile things he’s been avoiding since the loss of his arm. The newest prosthetic is a good one. The finest he could probably hope to have, and a one of a kind, crafted by the Inquisition’s mad and enthusiastic Arcanist herself. Re-learning how to use a new appendage that lacks feeling, though, has been an incredible and at times terribly frustrating process. Even now he’s keeping the cup close to his chest, steadying a hand that threatens to tremble against his breast.

But if this were to be packed well… He could even bring it with him in his own things, to safeguard it personally on their journey. June remembers the Frostback Basin with a certain level of fondness and reverence, both the land and its people had been hardy and wild, steeped in history, and once he had established himself as, at least, a respectful interloper, the Avaar of Stone-Bear hold had largely been happy to share their history, beliefs, and stories with him. “Uncivilized” as Dorian had privately joked they were, June knows the Altus had a certain level of respect and appreciation for their tenacity making and maintaining a life apart from the rest.

He fingers the equal parts fine and sturdily constructed handle of his cup, glancing about the rest of the displays. He could make an offer on the set. The shopkeeper has an entire shelf of other tea sets, and can’t value this one so much, his attention already turned to yet another customer once he’s filled June’s cup. He bites his tongue, however. He doesn’t want to seem too eager. Dorian had simply laughed it off, but June knows they had at least twice overpaid on their last purchase because he had unwittingly erred in the process of haggling.

“Amatus.” Dorian’s voice washes over him, a warm and soothing balm, the tension he’d not even truly noticed in his shoulders ebbing away. “You are a saint, I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.” June shakes his head, smiling softly. “Just the tea set,” Dorian smiles knowingly, nodding to the cup he’s still clutching near to his chest.

“Ah,” the shopkeeper smiles, returning to the pair of them with a certain hungry gleam in his eyes that makes June bristle. “Yes, it is a nice set, isn’t it?” Dorian nods without looking up, his attention still fixed on June, who’s suddenly gone quiet and rather stiff again.

“We have enough, I really don’t need-”

“But you like them, yes?” Dorian probes softly. “We’ll take them,” he nods to the eager shopkeep, not even bothering to barter with them. “A wedding gift,” he smiles softly, pressing a brief and gentle kiss to June’s cheek. June would point out that Dorian has already purchased several things in the last few days with this excuse, but doubts he’d be any more successful in dissuading him now than he has been in his past attempts.

“Mas serannas, Vhenan,” June mumbles, blushing slightly. Dorian shakes his head, carefully slipping his hand into June’s, the cool metal of his many rings and warmth of his fingers, the gentle pressure as he squeezes affectionately, filling him once more with strength and peace.

“I should be thanking you, Amatus,” Dorian replies. “I am. This,” he gestures with a shrug towards the sink where the shopkeeper is carefully washing June’s cup and boxing the set, “it’s nothing next to what you are giving me, but maybe it can be a start.”

“I don’t need anything, but you.”

“My, my, what a surprisingly silver tongue my husband has.”

“It’s true.”

“I know,” Dorian smiles fondly, squeezing his hand once more. “You’re an absolutely terrible liar,” he chuckles. “But it’s nice to have nice things. You deserve nice things.”

[talesfromthefade]

For the DADWC: sharing! a! long! scarf! with the pairing of your choice!

June Lavellan x Dorian Pavus, for @dadrunkwriting

“I didn’t really mean to make it so long,” June mumbles softly, a crimson flush creeping up his cheeks and alighting at the tips of his ears, tucking his chin down into the wool and staring at the snow at their feet to avoid his companion’s gaze. Dorian who’d chuckled as the overlong bundle had tumbled out of his meticulously wrapped box before wrapping half of the mile-long scarf around himself, then June, falls silent, mouth twitching upwards in a fond smile before leaning over to bump the elf’s shoulder.

“I think it’s cute,” he offers. June shakes his head.

“It’s just, by the time I thought to cast-off… it was so long, but it seemed a waste to go back and undo so much. I don’t know, I-” June trails off shrugging uselessly, desperately wishing to melt into the snowbank. What in the name of the Maker had he been thinking of giving such a useless and ridiculous thing to Dorian? And something handmade? Surely he would have appreciated something else so much-

“Stop it,” Dorian chides, flicking him softly on the nose and drawing him out of his revery.

“You don’t have to humor me.”

“Good show, I’m not then, isn’t it,” Dorian replies warmly, finally drawing cautious chocolate brown eyes back to his. “I mean it,” he assures him, reaching up to fix a loop a little more snug around his neck to keep out the chill and slowly, carefully telegraphing his movements to be sure they’re welcome, leaning in to wrap an arm around his shoulder. “I like it,” Dorian promises. “Nobody’s ever given me a handmade gift before. What were you thinking about when you were making it?”

“You,” June admits before he can stop himself, blushing once more. Dorian laughs, but June is able to recognize after a moment there’s not any cruelty in it. His eyes are twinkling, the crows feet June loves are there, he’s happy.

“Do I make you nervous?”

“Sometimes,” June nods. “But,” he jumps in quickly wishing to defend himself, not wanting Dorian to somehow think his gift is solely the result of a desperate desire to find an outlet for his anxiety. “Happy too.”

“Me too,” he whispers, tipping his head over onto June’s shoulder with a contented sigh. “Me too.”

“So… you like it? Truly?”

“I love it. And you, Amatus.” June’s blushing again, but can’t be bothered to care as he presses a soft kiss to his lover’s crown.

“Happy Satanalia, Dorian.”

[talesfromthefade]

Dorian’s featured here, but this is more June’s moment for zero fucks since I’ve written a similar such sentiment for Dorian before, but hope you enjoy.

June Lavellan x Dorian Pavus (Modern AU), for @dadrunkwriting

“Hmm,” Varric drawls thoughtfully. Thick fingers stroke his wide chin thoughtfully as he considers the table. “Alright,” he nods finally. “Make an intimidation check.” Dorian nods, shaking his head as June opens his mouth to offer to assist, gathering up and blowing on the die in his hands before throwing it.

“Two,” he calls miserably, the hand that drags through messing up his usually perfectly coiffed hair a mark his frustration and of how many drinks he is in with their game. He’s been rolling pretty poorly all evening but had been determined to be the one to find their party a way into the fortress. Varric pauses, considering once more as June sighs softly, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“I cast Eldritch blast,” June interjects before their Dungeon Master can make any pronouncements about what this latest fail has cost them.

“Amatus,” Dorian manages turning stunned wide-eyed to the man beside him, who simply shrugs.

“Haha. Andraste’s Tits, Prof,” Varric laughs shaking his head. “I was going to find some way of taking the sting out of it for him. Maybe something like, you’re so terrible at looking/being threatening they’re incapacitated by laughter. I mean, you do have to get through the gates somehow. But this,” he gestures to June with a grin. “This is so much fucking better. Sure, why not. Let’s have you roll for damage.”

“Natural 20,” June replies as Dorian gapes at the die, before triumphantly punching the air.

“Yes!”

“You manage to fling the guards back into the doors, knocking them out and blasting the large wooden doors open.”

“Yes,” Dorian cheers again, clapping with the rest of the table before enveloping him in an enthusiastic hug and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Maybe next time, let me try the intimidation check,” June smiles softly, tipping their head back against Dorian’s shoulder as they settle back into their seats and listen as Varric begins to set the scene of what awaits beyond the gates.

[talesfromthefade]

#5. OC & LI fighting only to end up kissing for June and Dorian?

June Lavellan x Dorian Pavus, for @dadrunkwriting

“Festis bei umo canavarum. If you don’t come through this, I swear I’ll kill you.”

The words don’t belong. The voice doesn’t belong. It’s out of place, out of sync with the barrage of them that surround him. Elven and ancient, loud, soft, scolding, sorrowful… so many. Too many. But one. He clings to one, one to help pull him through, a voice to call him back, keep him from drowning in all the others.

Dorian?

June rolls over to a crouch on his hands and the balls of his feet, clutching his forehead that still aches and distantly echoes with hundreds of whispers, some in forgotten language he struggles to comprehend. He lifts a hand to gesture to his approaching companions that they needn’t rush to his side as he swallows, searching for a voice with a throat that aches like he’s been shouting, though he’s certain his fellows would be far more concerned if he had.

“Not dead,” Dorian exclaims, falling back on his usual satiric commentary in his relief. “Well, that’s a relief. So… good? Bad? I’m dying to know.” June opens his mouth, but the voices and knowledge, everything he’s still trying to absorb is overwhelming, even the prospect of Dorian touching him, sidestepping to put a little space between himself and the rest of the party before he tries again. He’s about to answer, as best he can, at least, when he suddenly catches sight of Corypheus. There’s no time. The magister’s shouts of rage echo off the stone and trees around them.

“The Eluvian,” Morrigan shouts.

“Through the mirror!”

June lets his companions rush through, holding the line as the furious magister bears down upon them and the Well, a sudden wall of water and magic forming around the figure of an ancient looking elf in front of him as the whispers swell. He doesn’t wait to watch exactly how it plays out, diving after the others into the mirror.

He rushes back through the crossroads to the mirror he knows leads to the one in Skyhold and tumbles most inelegantly into a heap on the floor in the hall beneath it, just shy of a concerned and angry looking Dorian while Morrigan closes the gateway behind them.

“We-” Cassandra hesitates, considering him for a moment. They have the advantage now, but no one can be sure for how long. Corypheus will be furious they’ve taken this from him. He might strike again at any moment in retaliation. That could be an advantage if he acts impulsively, but only if they take this time to prepare. He must look as weary as he feels, for the warrior to hesitate. “We should convene the rest of the council to talk about this, perhaps in an hour or two for you to rest and collect yourself?” He’s reluctant to waste any time, but climbing back to his feet is forced to nod. She probably has a point. At the very least, some time to collect and sort out at least some of the thoughts in his head he knows are not his, might prove useful.

“I’ll take him,” Dorian nods, grasping his elbow before June can protest and leading him quickly out of the room, deftly avoiding everyone as he leads the elf back to his quarters.

“Why-” Dorian begins after he’s seen him to taking a seat on the edge of the bed, watery silvery eyes staring back at him. “I mean, I know why, goodness knows I hardly trust that Morrigan, and I know how brilliant you are, but… How could you do that? What if that damned well had killed you? What if I’d lost you to it?”

“Dorian-”

“No,” he interrupts shaking his head. “Don’t you do that. Don’t look at me like that, not with those big brown kicked puppy eyes. Don’t ‘Dorian’ me. I’m angry with you. Furious, can’t you tell? You could’ve- and then I would’ve been- Kaffas! Are you so determined to leave me?”

“Leave you,” June repeats, brow furrowing in confusion.

“You keep throwing yourself right into the thick of it, and one of these times your luck is going to run out. You keep risking your life like it doesn’t mean anything,” Dorian continues distressed, shaking his head and beginning to pace. “I know, I- Well, I know I’m still working on talking about some of this in a more serious or meaningful way, but you know- you have to know that’s not true. That your life is… it’s everything. And not just because you’re probably the only one that stands a chance of fixing any of this fucked up Fade business. But because it’s everything- you’re everything to me.”

“You think I risk my life because I’m trying to get away from you? Dorian, I don’t want to spend a moment I don’t have to without you. I want every moment possible. That’s what I’m fighting for now. For a future, more moments with you.”

“Amatus,” Dorian whispers, voice quivering as he stops to stare.

“Ma Vhenan,” June replies, smiling softly, an arm outstretched for him.

“Don’t think this means I’ve forgiven you, yet,” Dorian scowls, even as he reaches out to take his hand, allowing himself to be pulled into June’s waiting arms, and tipping them both back onto the bed to steal a needy kiss.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” June nods between kisses, wrapping his arms tighter around him.

[talesfromthefade]

Happy DWC Friday! How about a kiss from your "I WANT THE K" list?

I feel like maybe I fail since this doesn’t include the actual kiss within it, but this has been sitting in my inbox and I just really wanted to write that moment when June finally gets the courage to Dorian in earnest about what’s going on/what they want between them. June wants the K! XD Hope you enjoy.

June Lavellan x Dorian Pavus, for @dadrunkwriting

“You’ve been flirting with me,” June blurts out, falling onto the stool beside Dorian. He’s doing his best to keep his voice steady, certain, to keep the words from sounding like a question, to keep himself from slouching or gripping the bar counter in front of him for support as his heart hammers hard against his ribs. Is it always this difficult, for everyone? Dorian always seems so at ease, but perhaps… No, June thinks, shaking off his darker thoughts and doubts. He’s never been particularly good at reading people, that’s why he’s here, why he’s broaching the topic, risking looking foolish and being awkward. He’ll reserve judgment, do his best not to form any opinions one way or the other until he has all the facts. Dorian is laughing.

“I have been flirting with you for nearly two months now,” the Altus confirms cheerfully, “but it’s good of you to finally notice.”

“I noticed before,” June protests, hoping rather than entirely believing the words don’t sound too defensive.

“Oh?”

“I-” June hesitates, not entirely certain how best to convey his thoughts. “It didn’t seem like I was the only recipient.”

“Ah,” Dorian nods, taking another sip from his wine glass. “Well, that is true.” A pause, before, “Were you hoping to be?”

June opens his mouth, the words ‘I don’t know’ automatically queued on his tongue, before he stops himself short, biting them back. It’s not entirely dishonest. He hadn’t been entirely sure at first. Now, though… “No,” June manages finally shaking his head. Dorian looks, surprised, but June can’t discern whether or not the answer disappoints him, so he keeps going. “Not really. You seem to like it. Flirting,” June nods clarifying. “You shouldn’t change. Not for anyone, except yourself. Anyway, I like you, just like this. I just… I wasn’t certain what or how much it meant- with me,” Dorian’s smile slips a little, mouth going slack as whatever he’d been about to say seems to escape him in favor of staring at him.

“You’re very direct.” June nods.

“I don’t really know how to be anything else,” he confesses softly, dropping his gaze to the bar counter away from those penetrating silvery eyes.

“Nor should you,” Dorian replies, the smile audible enough in his voice as to draw June’s gaze slowly back up to his once more. “It suits you. Besides, it makes for a refreshing change of pace. You speak your mind- and your heart- there’s a lot to be admired in that.”

June isn’t so sure about speaking to his heart. Speaking to any emotions at all, for that matter. It’s nothing anyone has noticed or felt the need to compliment him on before. Not that he is devoid of feeling. Far from it. Simply that feelings tend to make June feel vulnerable in a way he’s accustomed and uncomfortable feeling, see him acting impulsively and at times against logic. He’s done his utmost over the years to build and maintain a certain distance, an endeavor he thinks he’s been largely successful with. And if now and then along the way he had been lonely, well at least he hadn’t lost anyone else. But now, Dorian, perhaps even without meaning to seems to have torn it all down. Or, at the very least the illusion that such a thing was ever possible or sustainable.

“Do you? Admire that?”

“I do,” Dorian nods, still smiling. “And plenty of your other finer qualities.”

“So, the flirting-” June prompts, biting his lip a little as he makes a valiant effort to fight down the flush of heat he feels creeping up his cheeks and spreading to his ears. “You stopped for a while.”

“You never flirted back,” Dorian shrugs, though there’s absolutely no bite or bitterness to his assertion, it is merely a statement of fact.

“I didn’t- I don’t know how,” June replies, correcting himself, feeling more than a little embarrassed.

“So I gathered. Eventually,” Dorian nods. “And promptly resumed my flirting,” he grins playfully, toasting him with his glass, before downing the last swallow of his wine. “For you, not turning me down or asking me to stop was flirting.”

“I’m sorry,” June mumbles, momentarily wishing he could spontaneously melt into the floor.

“Don’t be. It was- almost endearing somehow, once I figured it out.”

“Being well-read has allowed me to understand languages, words, but it doesn’t always mean I know the best way to use them. Sometimes there’s just too many to know the right one. Or none of them feel right. And with you, I- You’re-” June tries again, before shaking his head with a frustrated huff, tossing his hands in the air. He begins to sign things without much awareness of it. It’s second-nature to do so when words become too difficult for one reason or another, a habit he’s never entirely fallen out of and lately become more comfortable with using since he’s begun teaching Josephine and the rest of his advisors some of the most common ones he uses.

“Terrifying,” Dorian asks, once more sounding rather surprised. It takes a few more seconds for June to stop and realize just what the Altus has said, that Dorian has actually read and understood at least one of his gestures. “I’m terrifying?”

Slowly, reluctantly, June nods.

“Hmm,” Dorian hums thoughtfully. “Not the most flattering adjective I’ve ever had posed to me.”

June wants to say that there were others. Other adjectives, better compliments than the suggestion that he is terrifying. Wants to explain what he means, but his throat suddenly feels even tighter than before, the words dying there before they can make it to his tongue. He swallows down hard on the lump that seems to have formed in the back of his throat and tries again.

“I- I can’t be entirely logical when I’m around you.”

“Now that,” Dorian smiles, perking up a bit, “is a compliment.” Then at June’s confused and incredulous stare. “You are probably the most logical person I know.”  The elf frowns because that doesn’t sound like a compliment. It’s not an unfamiliar assessment, but few people have ever phrased it as a positive.

“I want to kiss you,” June blurts out, quite before he can think any better of it and stop himself. Flames, yes, he can melt into the floor any time now.

“Well, I daresay that could be arranged,” Dorian chuckles, “but let’s take this somewhere more… private? Somewhere where a hundred onlookers won’t think I’m stealing the Inquisitor’s soul.”

“After you,” June nods, doing his best not to jump up too eagerly from his stool.

[talesfromthefade]

June Lavellan & Josephine Montilyet (Pre-In Hushed Whispers) because this just speaks to my quiet little warrior bae, for @dadrunkwriting​ & @joufancyhuh

“Strictly speaking, I’m not Dalish,” June interjects shyly following Josephine’s reluctantly shared rumors about the Dalish elves. “I don’t know whether that helps or hurts mine or the Inquisition’s reputation, or if that’s a distinction- any, ah, anyone besides elves would find important,” he continues, allowing his gaze to wander briefly and catalogue the desk and various items atop it rather than continuing to meet the Ambassador’s gaze. “I was born in Denerim.”

“Truly?” June nods.

“I left after my mother- after she died,” June swallows.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” Josephine offers softly. “Well, you may be right. I’m not sure whether any potential allies would make that distinction,” she continues with a furrowed brow, tapping her quill thoughtfully against her chin as she speaks. “But I appreciate you sharing it with me. I will do what I can to end any slander or gossip, Herald. About either part of your heritage. It may help if I knew a little more about how you and your clan lived.”

“The human towns we traded with ate the same food and suffered the same weather we did. The main difference was that they had homes, while we wandered.”

“That… must have been difficult. Still, you must miss your Clan.”

“There were good things too. And the Dalish derive a certain amount of pride in their independence and self-sufficiency,” June smiles softly with a nod. “I do miss them. Our Keeper and Hahren, the children’s curiosity and appetite for stories. It wasn’t a perfect life, but it wasn’t an unhappy one.”

“Your life before, in the Alienage?”

“I-” June hesitates, feeling the tell-tale tightness in his chest and forcing himself to keep his breaths slow and regular. “I don’t really talk about it.”

“My apologies, we don’t have to-”

“I don’t know that I can,” June confesses on an exhale. “Sometimes, when I get too overwhelmed, when I have to talk about something upsetting I…I find that I can’t speak at all,” he continues, shaking his head. “My last memories of the Alienage are not any I like to dwell on, but they might be important if anyone else were to discover them.”

“Perhaps you could write it?”

June nods slowly. He could probably do that. “My mother was deaf. We used to use signs to talk so she could hear, or when I couldn’t- but I’m not altogether sure they’d mean anything to anyone else,” he offers.

“Leliana knows a little of hand signs. And perhaps you could teach us yours. I’d be happy to learn them.”

“You- you would? You don’t have to, I could try to write it- I…”

“Yes. I’d be happy to,” Josephine reaffirms with a warm and encouraging smile. “Whenever you would like. I’ll make the time for it.” And that sounds… sincere. Josephine is their ambassador. He’s just seen first hand the sorts of people that she has to deal with, and probably with only increasing regularity going forward. June has never been terribly good at reading people. Anyone as good at talking to and dealing with others like their ambassador would ordinarily intimidate him, but her smile is soft. It meets her eyes, and he finds himself letting go of a little of the tension in his shoulders. He believes her.

“Okay,” June nods, smiling softly. “Perhaps later over dinner?”

“We could bring it back here,” Josephine nods in agreement. “We shouldn’t be interrupted unless it’s an emergency.”

“Um, just to practice,” June adds hastily as an afterthought, followed immediately by a desperate desire to disappear. “I mean-” he stammers, blushing furiously. “I’m sorry. That was- I just… I’m not always terribly good at these things,” June admits looking away once more. “You seem very nice, and I look forward to getting to know and working with you. I just don’t want there to be any… misconceptions, if it can be avoided.”

“I appreciate that Herald,” Josephine nods patiently as June slowly manages to drag his gaze back to meet hers.

“Thanks.”

“Of course. Until this evening, then.”

[talesfromthefade]

From the cold prompts, “Just think warm thoughts” from someone being sarcastic to whoever in the party has been complaining about the cold for the last twenty minutes

@sylveonne & @irlaimsaaralath

June Lavellan x Dorian Pavus, for @dadrunkwriting

“‘Warm thoughts’, says the dwarf who’s lodged complaints about every inch of Thedas and manner of weather we’ve encountered so far,” Dorian huffs irritably at Varric’s back where he’s lain down and already begun to snore softly, pulling his own blanket higher and tighter around his shoulders. “Why didn’t we pack more blankets?”

“We were trying to pack light,” June jumps in with a small, sympathetic smile as he crawls into the tent with the rest of them, taking a seat beside Dorian to wrap strong arms and his own blanket around them both.

“And a few extra wools to keep warm would have been too much?”

“You were already sinking into the banks up to your hips,” June reminds him.

“I recall,” Dorian nods with a sniff, but he snuggles a little closer into June’s arms regardless, ignoring Sera pretending to wretch when the elf presses a soft, fleeting kiss to the column of his neck.

“I’ll see if anyone in town has anything extra we could buy or trade for tomorrow,” he promises. It seems doubtful. Emprise has been hit hard, and the last thing he wants to do is take anything what remaining stubborn or trapped inhabitants might need, however much he may wish to see Dorian happy and comfortable.

“Can’t you…” Sera asks trailing off in favor of flailing her hands about her in a mockery of the choreography of casting a spell. “You know. Do some sort of mage-y trick. You work with fire, yeah?”

“I do,” Dorian nods with a slight chuckle. It’s an impressive mark of just how uncomfortably cold they all are that she would even suggest a solution that might involve magic. “But unless you want me to set the tent on fire-”

“No,” Sera shouts, scooting a little further away towards the edge of the tent with a suspicious glare.

“Lighting a candle or warming something small is distinctly more concentrated and complex than indiscriminately lighting someone or something on fire.”

“Yeah. Fine. Got it.” Sera nods. “Just have to deal with freezing our bits off. Thanks. For nothing,” she huffs, throwing herself into her bedroll and tugging it up around her.

“Ah,” Dorian sighs softly, shaking his head, though with an amusedly fond smile, “You always drag me to the nicest ass-ends of nowhere.”

“I’d miss you too much otherwise,” June teases with a smile.

“That’s a lovely sentiment, Amatus. But I also hear absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“You know you didn’t have to come. When I ask, you could just-”

“What tell the Herald of Andraste, the leader of the Inquisition, no thanks I’d rather stay tucked up here in the library warm and cozy, if it’s all the same to you, thanks. No, couldn’t risk any of the rest of them getting ideas about undermining your authority,” Dorian smiles, tilting backward to steal a kiss. “I’m with you, wherever and whenever you need me. But we’re sharing a bedroll. I don’t care how cramped it is. You owe it to me to keep me warm dragging me out here.”

“Deal,” June smiles nodding.

[talesfromthefade]

Hand Holding from your Platonic touch prompt list? I'd love to see something about June, but whatever OC or character inspires you.

June Lavellan & Cassandra Pentagahst, for @dadrunkwriting

“You remind me of him sometimes,” Cassandra admits passingly, taking another swig of whatever it in her own flagon where she sits beside him at the bar.

“I’m sorry,” June offers sympathetically.

It’s taken some months of traveling and fighting together, a great many conversations with one another before the other warrior opened up about her brother. Cassandra had fought well and bravely. She deserves as much of the credit as he does in helping slay the dragon in the Wastes they are all celebrating, but it had never actually been his intention to put her through something perhaps a little too familiar and more than a little painful like that. No one has ever accused him of being particularly good at emotions- expressing or reading them, but he thinks briefly of his mother. Of the loss, and how now and again something unexpected makes the wound feel almost new again. It’s nothing he would wish on any of his companions, probably not even his enemies, certainly not the Seeker whom he’s come to think of as a rather dear friend. But- as is often the case when it comes to conveying any manner of sentiment- the elf finds himself frustratingly at a loss as to how best to convey this. A simple apology feels somehow grossly inadequate.

“No,” she replies shaking her head, the smallest hint of a reassuring smile as she shoots him a sideways glance and June relaxes slightly. However slow his fellow warrior may have been in opening up to him, Cassandra was surprisingly astute, and far more patient than had often been his experience with his social difficulties and more… direct manner of dealing with things. A fact for which June has been unfailingly grateful. “You needn’t be sorry. You’re not the same, of course. Nor do I wish you to be- I’ve, I have long since stopped trying to fill the hole he left with a surrogate,” she continues, taking another generous swig at this brief admission of weakness, of vulnerability. “But… sometimes in the littlest ways or things you do you remind me of him. And it’s… not so painful as I expected or it used to be,” Cassandra admits with a small, fond, half-smile.

June swallows the lump that seems to have come up in his throat, trying to think of something, anything, that might be a suitable response to this, coming up empty. Grateful that somehow in their time together without his saying or needing to explain it, the Seeker has picked up on his discomfort and inability to sustain direct eye-contact and seems content enough to speak without it. She sets her free, still gloved hand purposefully on the counter between them instead and waits for him to settle his own beside it in invitation, before covering it with her own. A simple gesture. A wordless one. Yet somehow, so much is said, so much is felt, and June feels confident in his understanding of it, letting go of some of the weight pressing in on his chest since their fight with the great beast.

“I am glad I was there,” Cassandra voices finally. “I- I had given up the idea of dragon hunting. After Anthony died- I just wanted to leave. Put as much distance between our family and its legacy as I could. Eventually, I found a new path for myself, purpose. I didn’t miss it. Just him. But I think, he would have been proud.” June nods. He didn’t know Anthony, it doesn’t feel right to offer empty assurances and platitudes that Cassandra’s brother would have approved, even if that seems the sort of thing most people would expect. Cassandra, he thinks, will not, not from him. She will not begrudge him allowing silence to fall between them, rather than fill it with meaningless words. “I am proud,” she continues after a moment’s pause. “For our recent victory, and to fight at your side. And perhaps a little envious,” she confesses softly.

“Envious,” June repeats curiously.

“You make decisions that shake the world, yet always seem so assured.”

“Assured,” June echoes with the slightest hint of a laugh, shaking his head.

“Assured,” Cassandra nods, undeterred by his skepticism. “Small talk, social graces, the Game,” she continues with a slight scowl. “I won’t say the sorts of things our ambassador does are not useful or important, but they aren’t the only important things. You know your heart and mind and you speak it, you follow it. I wish I had your confidence.”

June wants to say that Cassandra doesn’t strike him as very much different than the qualities she has just listed. The elf would never have suspected his fellow warrior would lack confidence, he’s rarely seen any reason for her to. The flattery, however, is throwing him off-guard. He’s not thought of anything he’s personally done as being all that commendable. In fact, it’s at times more than a little uncomfortable to think of the number of people following his orders and decisions. The number of lives held in the balance, depending upon him.

“You almost sound like you admire me.”

“I absolutely do,” Cassandra replies sincerely. “I may not always agree with your decisions, but how many could do what you have done. You were a prisoner, accused and reviled. Yet, you’ve emerged from every trial victorious. The Maker’s grace does not make you immortal. You live or die by your own hand. That is worthy of admiration.” June is blushing now, he’s positive, from something altogether different than the usual rosy cheeks he gets whenever he has the occasion to drink more than a glass or two. “We still have a long road to travel,” she continues with a nod of acknowledgment, raising a hand slightly to catch the attention of the barkeep to refill her flagon. “Wherever it takes us, I’m glad you’re here.”

[talesfromthefade]

For DWC: OH! ❤ “That’s not mistletoe, it’s holly.” May I request Pavellan?! (I'm super excited about this prompt, like an idiot, because mistaking holly for mistletoe is like my biggest seasonal pet peeve...) ❤

Thank you so much for the request! ^_^ That’s definitely a pet peeve of mine too, and I always love to write about my baby June.

June Lavellan x Dorian Pavus, for @dadrunkwriting

“It’s the Vallaslin, isn’t it,” June sighs shaking his head, collapsing into the chair across the table from the dwarf just inside the great hall.

“Something troubling you, Stag,” Varric asks, carefully setting down his pen and shifting his papers out of the way to turn his attention to the elf. June smiles slightly at the nickname and shakes his head again. It really isn’t a big deal, he supposes. Ordinarily, he’d just ignore it, brush it off as yet another one of those times where the nuances of social interactions are escaping him, or he’s being too sensitive about the whole thing, except…

“If they’re going to go around calling me ‘the Herald of Andraste,’ doesn’t it follow that I would celebrate, or at least be aware of Chantry-based holidays,” June gripes. “Why does everyone seem to think they need to educate me,” the elf asks as the dwarf chuckles shaking his head. “I didn’t find the Dalish until I was nearly 18. The feast and gifts in the Alienage weren’t quite as opulent as the rest of the city, but I know what Satinalia is. I’ve missed it, actually,” June admits reflectively. “The clan didn’t really celebrate it. I haven’t since…” Since his mother had died, June thinks, though he doesn’t seem to need to finish the thought for the dwarf to fill in the blanks. Varric nods, reaching cautiously across the table to place briefly place a hand on his arm with a sympathetic half-smile.

“How did you celebrate it?”

“The same as most people, I suppose,” June shrugs, feeling a bit sheepish complaining. It isn’t as though there aren’t plenty of other more pressing concerns. Truth be told, he's not really expected it to affect him so, except, of course, it was easy to forget and not to miss the holiday, and he and his mother’s silly traditions with the Dalish for whom Satinalia was simply another day, a Shem holiday. “My mother tried to teach me how to bake and cook for it for a few years, but I’m afraid I never showed much aptitude for it. I lacked the dedication to apply myself, I suppose,” he admits with a slight frown. A part of him wishes now that he’d tried harder, if only so that he might have had one more thing of his mother’s to keep with him.

“What was your favorite dish,” Varric prompts, deftly steering the conversation around the potential emotional caltrops. He’s always admired that. The way the dwarf manages to make conversation with him seem easy, pleasurable. Nothing like the confusing and exhausting chore it is with so many others. Varric can always be counted upon to speak his mind or hold his tongue. He doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean. And if he lies, well it’s generally just exaggeration, for the best effect of a story. June, a lover and collector of stories himself, can appreciate and respect that.

“She used to make these cookies with pumpkin,” June recalls with a smile, almost smelling them as the memory comes flooding back to him. “Little pieces of chocolate sprinkled in too, when we could find and afford it. I always ate too many of them, but they were delicious.”

“Sounds like it,” Varric nods with a smile.

“The Vhenadahl used to sprout some Mistletoe every year,” he recalls with a slight chuckle. “It might have choked the tree eventually if left unchecked, but you’d never have guessed it. Some of them gave that silly weed more reverence than the tree of the people. They’d climb as high as they could, or dared to pick some and hang it in all the doors. The kissing plant.”

Varric shakes his head, laughing. “Kirkwallers were crazy for the stuff too. Daisy and a couple of the other elves from the Alienage started selling it. Earn a little extra coin for them.”

“Wish we’d thought of that,” June smiles, shaking his head, completely missing Dorian who had been making his way into the hall behind him and suddenly paused to listen in, before quickly turning and heading back the way he came. A kissing plant? They had such a thing here in the South? Scout Harding, she would have to know more about it, wouldn’t she? Maybe have some? Or that new requisition officer? Maker, what was his name again?

…

June frowns slightly, following after Josephine, only vaguely registering her words about a prisoner who is awaiting his judgment. He supposes it was foolish to hope that he might have even a small reprieve from the duties of being the Inquisitor for the holiday. Equally disappointing, he’s not seen Dorian all day. The Altus had still been there beside him when he woke that morning but departed shortly after the elf woke with an all-too-fleeting kiss and muttered excuses and apologies. The mage has responsibilities, he knows. Tasks that he has appointed himself, or is uniquely qualified for, efforts to impress upon the rest of the Inquisition and Thedas at large that not all Tevinters are terrible or moments away from summoning demons or stealing souls with blood magic. Still… he’s missed him, traveling the last week without his company and usual witty commentary, retiring to a tent that’s suddenly entirely too big, hadn’t been the same. Varric joins them at the large wooden doors, which the elf registers for the first time are closed.

Shouts and cheers echo throughout the hall as the doors swing open to reveal a long table laden with food and drink, and surrounded by his advisors and companions who raise their glasses in his direction, beckoning him to join them. The usual Inquisition heraldry has been temporarily replaced with drapes of red, green, silver and gold velvets from Ferelden, and glittering glass floating baubles from Orlais. A tiny wisp of light whose magical signature he recognizes dances just above his head, more of them floating about the room’s high ceilings, no doubt the source of Cullen’s slight discomfort as Leliana laughs pouring him another drink. He’s never seen anything like it, and yet… there’s just enough of everything he remembers and once loved for it to feel… comforting, familiar.

And at the center of it all, perched on the throne with shining eyes and a grin, is Dorian. Confident none of his companions will begrudge him visiting with each of them later, he crosses the room to his lover in a few long strides.

“Happy Satinalia, Amatus,” Dorian smiles warmly.

“Vhenan,” June whispers. “Did you do this?”

“I may have recruited some help,” the mage admits, uncharacteristically modest. “Unless of course, you really like it, in which case, absolutely. All me,” Dorian teases. Ah, that’s more like it, the elf thinks with a soft chuckle and a shake of his head.

“And the reason you’re over here, rather than over there with everyone else?”

“Strategy,” Dorian replies, eyes twinkling. “I’ve hidden the best wine back here,” he gestures behind the throne with a smirk. “And I was waiting for you. Look up.”

June does, examining the throne, which upon closer inspection has been draped over with some ribbons and greenery. Based on the Antivan woman’s smile when the surprise was revealed, June is relatively certain that the prisoner awaiting judgment was simply a ruse, but it would be… interesting to have the mighty Inquisitor judge someone in such a seat. That, however, doesn’t really explain why Dorian seems so excited about it, turning his attention back to the mage with a confused expression. Dorian’s smile falters slightly, suddenly recalculating his course of action.

“The kissing plant,” Dorian offers looking up and gesturing to the greenery that lines the seat, no longer quite so confident as he had been a few moments before, and June laughs in dawning comprehension, shaking his head.

“Uh, no. Not quite,” he replies with a smile at Dorian. “They don’t have Mistletoe in Tevinter, do they?”

“No,” Dorian frowns, looking frustrated. “So, what is this then?”

“Holly,” June smiles softly, plucking a small sprig and bringing it down to twirl admiringly between his fingers. “Pretty. It is often used to decorate for Satinalia,” he adds sympathetically. One couldn’t really be picky about which plants and blooms they used. Whatever was able to survive and thrive the cold of Winter had to do. “Dorian,” the elf continues, drawing the other’s gaze back up to him. “Thank you,” he nods. “This is… it’s wonderful,” he assures him, tucking the sprig of Holly thoughtfully behind one ear with a small smile. “But, you know, if it’s a kiss you wanted, all you had to do was ask,” June offers, smiling wider still as he leans over, tugging Dorian up to his feet to pull him into a kiss. “Happy Satinalia, Dorian.”

[talesfromthefade]

giggly kiss for a pairing of your choice? (dwc)

June Lavellan x Dorian Pavus, for @dadrunkwriting

“Ever since then, Fen’Harel thinks twice about playing tricks when dogs are on guard,” June finishes with a small smile to the little group of refugee children who had gathered around in the garden. The children smile, some even clapping at the story’s conclusion.

“Oh no, but I don’t have a dog,” one small boy worries with a frown. “Does that mean the Dread Wolf will come after me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Fen’Harel wouldn’t be interested in a Shem,” a small elven girl laughs scornfully.

“It’s only a story,” June replies soothingly with a patient smile and shake of his head to the concerned young boy. “One that’s been passed down for so long now nobody could say where it originally came from. Probably just a fairy story to frighten little children into behaving themselves,” he admits with a small grin. “If the Dread Wolf ever lived it was a very, very long time ago. Besides, Skyhold is a safe place. There are many soldiers, mages, and Templars here to keep an eye on anyone that would cause trouble, and there’s magic in the very walls of this place.”

“And there’s you,” another child pipes up with a bright smile. “Mama says Andraste picked and sent you to us.”

“And there’s me,” June nods, albeit a little reluctantly, still not entirely used to his title.

“Do you even believe in Andraste,” the elven girl asks skeptically. Ah, the big question, the elf thinks, and possibly the most delicate one posed to him since accepting his role as Inquisitor.

“I believe that I can help to fix this, which makes it my duty to do so.” The small elf seems to consider this for a moment, continuing to scrutinize him. She’s old and clever enough to have realized he’s not actually answered her question, but seems to understand or accept the one he’s given without pressing any further, nodding finally. “And I believe it is probably time for you to be getting back to your parents da’lens,” June adds with a glance at the now setting sun. SUrely it is approaching dinner time now. There is a collective groan of protest from the group as they slowly begin collecting their things.

“I wish you didn’t have to go. I wish you could stay here all the time. You tell the best stories,” one of the younger children whines.

“Mmm,” June nods appreciatively, warmed by the compliment. “But consider, if I didn’t ever go anywhere however would I find any new stories to bring back to you,” he points out with a wry smile. “We have another day yet before I am due to leave. If you come back to the courtyard again tomorrow afternoon I will be there. And when I’m finished with my training, I will see if I can come up with another story to tell you,” he promises. Smiles and cheers greet this as the group finally disperses to go and find their families once more.

“You’re quite good with them,” Dorian assesses, pushing himself off of the pillar he had been leaning on some distance away, watching and listening to him interacting with the children after he and Cullen had finished their weekly chess match under the pavilion. June merely smiles with a small shrug, dusting off his pants as he stands. “And so modest too, what in the Void are you doing with a man like me,” the mage marvels with a soft chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief.

It’s a rhetorical question, June realizes, but he thinks perhaps- some days- Dorian might actually wonder about that. They have been taking things slowly- physically, at least, since their first botched attempt to fall into bed with one another- a nervous June too afraid of losing the mage’s unexpected interest and affection to admit he might not be ready for this yet, Dorian afraid of what the whole thing might mean- or not mean, as the case might be. Still, the elf hopes he is constant and demonstrative enough in his way that Dorian never doubts how fiercely June has come to care about him.

“I was in training to become the clan’s next Hahren,” June replies finally. “The keeper of history and stories,” he adds for Dorian’s benefit before he can ask. “A teacher of sorts, especially for the children and younger members of the clan. Because of my experiences and travels, I suspect. I am far more worldly than many Dalish elves often are. Though, I suppose that the role of a successor has fallen to someone else in my absence,” the elf continues with a small rueful frown.

“You miss them.”

“Of course,” June nods slightly. “They were kind to me. Took me in when they didn’t have to and made me welcome, one of their own after I thought I had lost just about everything. But they are likely safer without me now after everything that has happened. Elves and fame don’t tend to go well together, historically speaking.”

“Will you go back? Once all this is over,” Dorian asks cautiously. June smiles softly, picking up on the unspoken anxiety in his question, despite the other’s probably desperate desire to hide it and any insecurities he may still have about losing him or the relationship budding between them now. June isn’t so sure he’s getting better at picking up many cues from his verbal and social interactions, but it’s pleasing to think perhaps he’s becoming a bit more practiced doing so with Dorian, at least.

‘You learn not to hope for more,’ Dorian had told him when the pair finally started to discuss everything that had threatened to come between them before they’d even begun. ‘This can be more,’ he’d replied.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing them all again,” June admits thoughtfully. “But I don’t think I could stay,” he adds, smiling a little at the surprise that washes over Dorian’s face before he can stop it. “The truth is that I never entirely felt I fit in, even after I began training to be the next Hahren. There are not many places I have,” he adds with a slight shrug, though the words are matter-a-fact, rather than any degree of sorrowful. “That doesn’t bother me much. Not too often. But it was more than just that. Unspoken or not, I was still a flat-ear to most of them. Besides, it seems as though I’ve made a life and home for myself here,” the elf continues with a small smile at him. Dorian nods.

“I’d like to stay with you,” June continues, his gaze never leaving his lover’s. “I- maybe it’s too soon to be saying something like that,” the elf backpedals rapidly, seeing the mage’s pupils swallow up his silvery eyes as his mouth drops open. “I know we haven’t- but I don’t need that to know that’s what I want. I’m-” June hesitates, brow furrowing as he searches for exactly what it is he wants to say, and in a way that Dorian will understand. “I’ve never been this happy. With you I can be myself, but, I’m also the best version of myself. So, yes. I’d like to stay with you,” June nods decisively. “Wherever that takes us when all of this is over. If that’s something you would want to,” he adds hesitantly.

“The things you say,” Dorian replies, a little breathless, shaking his head in disbelief. “Whatever are you going to do if you discover later I’m terrible in bed,” he asks. June raises a skeptical eyebrow that threatens to disappear into his hairline.

“I can scarcely believe you would even suggest that much less it being true,” June replies unconvinced. “Of the two of us, it is far more likely I would be. So you teach me. Tell me, show me what it is you like, how to make you-”

“I- ha, I get the idea,” Dorian interrupts cutting him short and looking a little flustered.

“So?”

“So,” Dorian asks, confused.

“Is that- something you might want?”

“To teach you? I’m not opposed to the idea, I-”

“To still be together, after all this ends,” June interjects quietly.

“Of course, I would you foolish man,” Dorian laughs, shaking his head with a beaming smile forming on his face, and June can see the moment the weight that the other has been carrying around is lifted from his shoulders, the relief at the confirmation that he doesn’t plan to go anywhere without him. Feels it, because, June realizes, he’s been carrying this uncertainty around too. Fleetingly he wishes he could have spared Dorian even a moment’s worry by saying as much sooner. But perhaps, he thinks, catching sight of a familiar sweep of crimson and white robes and a disapproving frown in his peripheral vision, he can do the next best thing.

Dorian lets out a high-pitched, rather undignified squeak of surprise as the warrior abruptly scoops him up in his arms, and encouraging the mage to wrap his legs around his waist, before crushing his lips against his. Dorian’s previously flailing hands, suddenly catch up, wrapping around his neck, long, ringed fingers finding and cradling his neck, the back of his head, before threading through his hair, clasping and tugging a little here and there as he returns June’s kisses with equal enthusiasm.

“June,” Dorian breathes some minutes later, suddenly scrambling to get back down to his own two feet and put a little more respectable distance between the pair of them. “June,” he tries again a little more firmly, when the elf initially ignores it, in favor of continuing to chase his lips. “This isn’t exactly a very private space,” the mage points out. The garden is mostly empty now, most down at the tavern or returned to camp for dinner and winding down for the evening. “We have an audience,” Dorian whispers, gesturing with a shrug towards the opposite side of the garden where Mother Giselle is pointedly avoiding looking at them.

“Just because she means well, doesn’t mean she’s right,” June replies shaking his head, with a small smile, though he doesn’t reach out for the other man, letting Dorian dictate their distance and what he’s willing to share with anyone else.

“You knew she was there,” Dorian’s gape quickly turning into an amused grin as he shakes his head.

“I trust you, Dorian. Infinitely more than I trust her. So she might as well get used to it. They all should. I’m the ‘Inquisitor’ everyone wants to use me for something. The difference is that I’m choosing to allow this. In fact, I’m rather hoping you will use me. Or are you all talk,” the elf challenges, feeling a bit bolder.

“Oh you are glorious,” Dorian grins admiringly laughing.

He really ought to be more careful, they both should. He is, as the mother oh-so-helpfully pointed out, from Tevinter. There are plenty of people even within the ranks of the Inquisition who likely have less than good opinions of him simply because of Dorian’s homeland, but for the moment, he is happy, less troubled than he’s been in weeks. This thing with June is vastly different from anything he’s ever shared with anyone. He’s at times, terrifyingly out of his depth with it all, but the affection between them, even if it hasn’t become more intimate yet, is unmistakably real, and it’s everything Dorian long ago stopped dreaming about ever having. And here in Skyhold, surrounded and supported by their friends, neither of them can be bothered to care it seems what the old hen might think or say about the two of them taking a moment to themselves. So Dorian leans in while both of them are still chuckling, to steal another kiss, before taking the elf’s hand in his to head back in for some supper.

[talesfromthefade]

"I need a hug." for June & Dorian?

June Lavellan & Dorian Pavus (the post-Adamant/Fade conversation) for @dadrunkwriting

“You have remarkably little here on early Tevinter history,” Dorian offers casually as the elf approaches the little alcove of the library the mage has staked out as his. “All these gifts to the Inquisition,” he continues, shaking his head with a frown, “and the best they can do is the Malefica Imperio. Trite propaganda. But if you want twenty volumes on where the Divine Galatea took a shit on Sunday, this is evidently the place to find it.”

“That’s the Dorian I know,” June smiles softly. “Critiquing every book in my library.”

June’s getting better these days, if not with everyone, then at least with his lover, about reading some of the social cues that usually elude him. He’s still inclined to say that he’s quite handicapped compared to some, perhaps even most, but he’s picking some things up. Enough by now to know that the frustration etched into Dorian’s brow isn’t about a book. Or, not exclusively, anyway. Best to simply be direct about it.

“What is this about, Dorian?”

“When we fell into the chasm- into the Fade- I thought you were done for. I don’t know if I can forgive you for that moment.”

They’ve not had much opportunity to talk about it since it happened. Not for June’s lack of trying, but he’d needed to brief the rest of the War Council on what had happened, assess their and the Warden’s losses, plan what their next move might be against Corypheus… They’d scarcely slept in order to march back to Skyhold as quickly as possible. Even now, there’s a sense of holding their breath. Corypheus’s plan will undoubtedly suffer from the blow they have dealt him, but it would be foolish to think he will give up now.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that with me,” June apologizes, frowning a little. Not for the first time, the elf feels frustrating conflicted and confused by the mage in front of him and the relationship they’ve embarked on together. Surely he should feel bad for making Dorian go through this. He does. June would do anything in his power to protect Dorian, from anything that might hurt him, himself included. Still, some small part of him feels… not pleased, exactly, but not disappointed either, that the thought of losing him is as frightening and potentially devastating as the reverse can be said of him. Nothing is certain, of course. The two of them, the whole of the Inquisition, face down enemies on an almost daily basis that could be their end. But it’s difficult, not something he even wants to try, imagining going on doing so without Dorian now.

“I’m not sorry I was there with you,” Dorian interjects, shaking his head. “I thought I’d lost you. You sent me ahead and then didn’t follow. For just a moment, I was certain you wouldn’t. I thought this is it. This is where I finally lose him forever. Are you- alright,” the mage asks, softening a little when he finally notices June’s frown.

“It was like walking in a nightmare, but everything was real… I couldn’t-” June trails off, struggling to put the events of Adamant and what had happened to them all in the Fade into words. Spiders. That’s what he’d complained of. Always spiders. Because who isn’t a little bit fearful of the ones the size of dogs. If that was not the form the creatures the Nightmare had sent after him took, if they instead looked more like ghosts-friends and family come back to haunt him for his failures- well, no one else needs ever know.

“Ah, it’s as I thought,” Dorian nods, softening a little. “The Fade is an ordeal under normal circumstances. To be the only real thing there… beyond description. That any of us made it out alive is difficult to believe. That you made it out, a miracle. You do realize this feat hasn’t been performed in over a thousand years? Corypheus and his contemporaries entered the Fade and began the blights. In comparison... “

“At least I had you on my side,” June offers with a slight smile. Truthfully, it was only having Dorian alive, volleying taunts and spells left and right at anything that came at them that kept him sane,  anchored, focused on the task at hand of getting out and back to the world he was more familiar with.

“No offense,” Dorian chuckles ruefully, “But I’d almost rather I hadn’t been.”

“No sense of adventure? That’s surprising.”

“I’ve not your talent for survival, and not everyone is as discerning as I. If you can walk in the Fade, others will try to follow. Who knows what secrets Corypheus has revealed? Not all of them will be so lucky as you. What they could unleash… My advice? Keep this quiet. Let them speculate. Too many will see this as a challenge.”

“That’s a good idea,” June nods. It’s exactly what he had thought to do, and he supposes, he wouldn’t really know what to tell anyone or how to explain much of anything he saw in the first place.

“There are enough idiots in the world who think if they just use enough blood magic, their problems will vanish. It’s exactly the sort of thing I want to stop back home. This… I don’t need. What I do need is a copy of the Liberalium. I’ll wager I can find Corypheus’s real name. If I can prove he was a grasping ankle-biter with no family to speak of? The luster would come right off. Wish me luck,” he grins softly, lifting a hand once more to comb over the spines of the books on the nearby shelf.

“You won’t need it,” June replies confidently. Dorian chuckles softly, shaking his head, before seeming to abandon his task of weeding the propaganda and more useless books from his corner shelves in favor of turning his attention back to his lover. He’s smiling now. A real smile, June thinks with relief. The rare ones that actually make it all the way to his silvery eyes, and pull at the crow’s feet he’d no doubt deny being old or happy enough to have. “Take a break.”

“You have something in mind, Amatus,” the mage asks, raising a curious eyebrow.

“Not particularly,” June admits with a slight shrug. “I’ve just missed you.”

“Oh.”

For a moment, June wonders if perhaps this is another instance where he’s unwittingly said something most people would leave unsaid, but the elf has never seen the sense in such things. He waits for Dorian to bluster or tease him as seems to have become their habit, so it takes him momentarily off-guard when the mage closes the gap between them, wrapping his arms around him, then that he goes for a hug, burrowing his face into his lover’s neck rather than a kiss. Surprised, but not unhappy.

“I missed you too,” Dorian whispers softly, mustaches and warm breath gently tickling June’s neck as he squeezes him just a little tighter.