#thalia & dorian fake dating shenanigans

[nirikeehan]

For dadwc, Thalia and Dorian fake dating, "The main characters are told that something they’ve been searching for (a person, a concept, a place) doesn’t exist."

Yessssss thank you, I love them!! This is perhaps a more flexible interpretation of the prompt, but I think I got there in the end.

Also, technically Thalia married Cullen in Trespasser but for the sake of the fake dating shtick, I've unmarried them here.

For @dadrunkwriting — in which I break my own rule and do some (vague) speculating on what might happen in DA4.

WC: 1910

---

“I’m afraid it’s simply impossible to allow you access, Magister Pavus,” said the university librarian, staring down the bridge of his nose at the two of them. He had wide half-moon spectacles that made his severe face seem even more daunting. “That section of our Rare Book Collection is strictly forbidden to anyone who isn’t faculty. And even then, they need to obtain special authority from the dean.” 

Dorian let out an exaggerated sigh, casting a dismayed glance at Thalia.

“Oh, dear,” Thalia said, sidling closer to Dorian. He took her gently by the arm. It was a strange sensation — she could not feel a thing, as he had hold of her prosthetic. “And to have come all this way. I was assured the University of Minrathous has the most impressive volume of books in all of Thedas.” 

“And that is so, my lady,” the librarian was quick to add. “But there is such a thing as too much knowledge being dangerous in the hands of the masses. Surely a woman of your pedigree would understand.” 

Thalia stifled a sigh of her own. She had been high born, and spent plenty of time amongst the self-important aristocracy. But as Dorian had frequently warned her, the Tevinter sense of superiority truly was something else. 

“I understand I am to leave here disappointed,” Thalia said coldly. “And let down by the false promises of my betrothed, besides.”

“Betrothed?” the librarian repeated, arching an eyebrow at Dorian. “You’re marrying this woman?”

“Why do you sound surprised?” Dorian shot back.

The librarian backpedaled. “I’m not surprised, my lord, not at all! It’s simply, one hears— er, shall we say, certain gossip—”

“Ah yes, I see the lies and slander have reached every echelon of Tevinter society,” Dorian said. “I swear, one goes south for a year, and while he’s busy saving the world, all sorts of salacious rumor about him pop amongst the idle elite.”

“Forgive me, sir,” the librarian implored. The lobby to the Rare Book Collection was small and airless, and Thalia could see sweat breaking out on his brow. “I did not mean to offend such an illustrious figure in Tevinter society.” 

Dorian huffed. “Well, offended I am. Twice over, in fact. First you make me a fool in front of my fiancee, whom I promised could see for herself the rarest collection of books on the continent, and now you are making insinuations about my social character. I ought to put in a complaint to your superior—”

“Oh, there is no need for that, Magister Pavus,” the poor librarian insisted, and pulled a jangling collection of keys out of the pocket of his robes. “I, er, certainly understand the importance of making one’s spouse happy. I can, perhaps, offer a half an hour while you are certain not to be disturbed?” 

“It will have to do, I suppose,” Dorian said, looking to Thalia. Suppressing a smirk, she gave him a nearly imperceptible nod. 

Traipsing down the dark, cramped aisles of the restricted section, Thalia couldn’t help but think of how easy it would be for the whole place to go up in flames. Tomes with parchment dry as bone cramped every nook, and the spaces between the bookshelves were so tiny they had to walk single file. Dorian went first, strolling with a confidence she did not share. Sconces were few and far between, but the ones they passed burned with a flame that reminded her of Veilfire — some Tevinter magic to keep the torches lit, yet not pose a threat to the coveted tomes within. 

“I thought he’d never let us in,” Thalia murmured once they were safely out of earshot. 

“On the contrary, I knew he would,” Dorian said. “Express enough outrage, and give a minor fledgling something to gossip about, and he’ll bow. Our concerns are far above his pay grade.” 

“Still,” Thalia said, squinting at ancient book spines inscribed in High and Low Tevinter, Old Orlesian, and scripts incomprehensible to her eye, “if we keep using the betrothal gambit, do you think someday someone might try to hold us to it?” 

“Trust me, Mother would send you down the aisle tomorrow if she were to get her claws into you.” Dorian paused under a flickering sconce and flashed a charming grin. “As marriages of convenience go, I could do far worse.” 

“Oh, stop it.” Thalia shoved his shoulder playfully with her good hand.

“Don’t pretend it isn’t appealing to you as well, my dear. Just think: the perfect cover for both of us. Our families would finally shut up, mine because I’ve put aside certain undesirable ‘proclivities’ for a woman, and yours because you’ve stopped mucking about with commoners and married a proper Tevinter noble.”

“You are still a mage. My family hasn’t even fully forgiven me for being one.”

Dorian clucked his tongue. “Ah, well. Nobody’s perfect, after all. I’d be the roguish handsome black sheep of the family. Everyone would dread my coming to town, yet be secretly intrigued by my good looks and impeccable wit.” 

“And your modesty, no doubt.” Thalia smirked, but as the thick walls and packed shelves absorbed the sound of their footsteps, her amusement waned. “Are you even paying attention to where we’re going? I got the impression the librarian will be counting the seconds before he comes after us.” 

“I’ve been here before, remember? Only once, but the place left an impression. If we’ll find it anywhere, I know just the nook.” 

Yes, Dorian had told her: he’d been here before, with Gereon Alexius. It was strange to think back on it now, to remember that her best friend had once studied under the formidable magister and member of the Venatori, back to a time when she doubted Dorian’s motives and loyalties. He studied a great many things under Alexius, it turned out... bits of forbidden knowledge that might help them in the next step of their journey into an uncertain future. Her phantom limb tingled as she picked up her pace.

“Do you really think we’ll find it?” 

“Manuel Andronicus was the most celebrated explorer Tevinter has ever known, and the only one to sail any length of the Amaranthine Ocean and come back alive. If there’s a clue about where to find the Executors, his papers will have them.”

They had confirmation that Andronicus had donated his papers to the university library, and that, for some reason, they had been catalogued in this lightless dungeon within the Rare Book Collection. Why Andronicus’s accounts had been locked away down here they didn’t know, but they hoped it was because his papers contained some vital piece of information that those in high places didn’t want getting out. It all felt a little conspiratorial, like the plot of one of Varric’s mystery novels, but stranger things had happened.

“Cullen believes the Executors aren’t real.” When Thalia voiced his opinion, it made her feel uncertain herself. “That they’re just a convenient fantasy invented as a scapegoat for more mundane crimes. He says that there can’t be truly anything out past the Amaranthine, otherwise it would have been found by now.” 

Dorian snorted. “No offense to your actual betrothed, but he once told me he believes all the ships that sailed east and never returned fell off the flat edge of the world.”

Thalia’s eyes widened. “He did not!”

“He did. If ever I need a city put under siege, there’s no one better. When it comes to the natural sciences, he ought to step aside and let actual scholars do the theorizing. Ah, here we are.”

He had led them to a far corner of the room. Against one wall was a set of chairs around a small table, stained with the melted candle wax and ink spots of many a fevered knowledge seeker. Along the other was another dusty shelf. Dorian squinted over the titles. Thalia joined him, although he was quicker with written Tevinter than she was. After a few minutes, she hoped she was translating the spines incorrectly. 

“Manuel Andronicus has seventeen volumes of travel accounts?” 

“So it would seem,” said Dorian cheerfully. He grabbed for the first in the series, a large tome thicker than his wrist. “And we’ve about twenty minutes, so step lively!”

Thalia took the adjacent volume, wincing at the effort it took her one-handed. The tome was heavy and brittle, and she had to rest it against her prosthetic arm to keep from dropping it. She set it down sloppily on the table and took a seat. Dorian sat across from her, and she leafed through the thin pages with as much gusto as she dared. Andronicus had messy cursive but excellent artistic skills. Much of the parchment was illustrated with maps and sketches of the landscapes and wildlife he encountered. 

“This just seems to be about his journey through the Waking Sea,” she said dubiously. 

“Indeed,” Dorian agreed and slammed his book shut, releasing a plume of dust in the air between them. “Perhaps something later in his repertoire.” 

They replaced the books and pulled haphazardly from higher-numbered volumes. More maps, more sketches, more difficult handwriting that tested the limits of Thalia’s reading comprehension. After skimming three more tomes, she was ready to call it quits. Sighing, she turned a page, and a Tevinter word jumped out at her.

“Here,” she cried, nearly leaping from her seat. Dorian came over to her side, and she pointed. “That says ‘Executors,’ doesn’t it?” 

Dorian leaned over her shoulder, his eyes darting over the words. “It does indeed. It’s just…” He furrowed his brow. “Strange…” 

“Strange how?” 

“He’s describing robed figures he and his crew encountered on a ship of their own, leagues and leagues past Estwatch. Faces not visible, sex and age undiscernible… but calling themselves the Executors.” 

The enigmatic description chilled her. “Anything else?”

“They invited him to dine aboard their ship… and to follow them to an island, the coordinates of which are…” Dorian flipped the page, and they both jolted with surprise. Several pages of the tome had been torn out in the middle, leaving only jagged edges. 

“Dammit.” Dorian pounded the table with his fist. “We were so close.” 

Thalia squinted at the writing on the next intact page, recognizing snippets of words repeated with the emphasis of a hard-pressed quill: Day 172: Endless blue. Day I73: Endless blue. Day 174: Endless blue. Day 175…  

“Who removed the pages?” she asked quietly. 

“Unclear,” Dorian growled. “Andronicus himself? The Executors?” 

 “A third party? Anything could have happened between the time Andronicus returned from his voyage and his effects were donated to the library.” Thalia frowned at the tome. “Whoever catalogued the book, even.”

“Hang on.” Dorian peered closely at the ripped pages. “The collection has been in the library for over a hundred years, but these edges aren’t yellowed,” he said, voice low. “This is recent.”

They stared at each other. A thrill of fear crawled up Thalia’s spine. She resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder, where the dark aisles loomed. “I think we ought to go.”

“Yes,” Dorian said with forced calm. He stood up straight, straightening his lapels. “I get the feeling we’ve overstayed our welcome.” 

The librarian in the lobby bade them farewell and wished them happy nuptials. Thalia thought perhaps there was something sinister behind his smile, but couldn’t be sure. She suppressed a shiver, and reached for the sturdy warmth of Dorian’s arm.

[nirikeehan]

Hello! For DADWC Prompt: Bad things happen Bingo: "Take My Hand!" with Thalia & Dorian (bffs). <3

THANK YOU CATHY!! I've been hyped for this one for ages and I am finally getting around to it.

For @dadrunkwriting and @badthingshappenbingo

Series: Dragon Age: Inquisition

WC: 1798

This one ended up getting away from me so I'm cutting it for length down to its relevant part. It's also occurring in the same story as this. For context, Thalia and Dorian are in the snowy mountains of Emprise du Lion, having just found a site they think houses old elven ruins and might be home to horrific abominations (and possibly an operation instigated by Solas?). Slight spoilers for the Tevinter Nights short story "The Horror of Hormak."

I also didn't proofread most of this. A true DWC experience.

---

“Maybe we should turn back,” Thalia said. A land bridge stretched out before them, allowing unfettered access to the ruins, but their circumstances suddenly felt a great deal more dangerous. “I can send a raven to Cullen, and then—”

“I’m sure he could scrounge up a few strapping lads wishing they were still employed by the Inquisition,” Dorian interjected drily, “but by the time they get here and tromp on up the mountain, what do you think would be left? Assuming there’s anything to find, of course. Just because the place is where we thought it was doesn’t mean there’s a nefarious operation happening below ground. But if we leave now, and there is someone here, we’ll lose the element of surprise for sure.” 

Thalia let out a slow breath, trying to ignore her sense of dread. “You’re right.” She chuckled, nervously adjusting the scarf around her neck. “It just occurred to me, if this was a combat mission like the old days…” 

“We’re two people short of a full party,” Dorian finished, with a smirk. “It is a little strange without Varric’s witticisms and Rainier’s constant brooding.” 

The comment brought a wry smirk to Thalia’s face. The four of them had been a dream team, once; her favorite agents to bring on a field mission. “I’m sure Varric is very busy these days, being viscount of Kirkwall. Couldn’t possibly tear himself away.”

“Rainier would be here in a heartbeat, though,” Dorian commented casually.

Thalia swallowed hard. “We’ve not time to reminisce,” she replied, and shifted to her Inquisitor tone. “Shall we call this strictly a scouting mission? We don’t have much manpower, and I don’t want us to get in over our heads. But if there’s something to find…” She cast a foreboding glance at their destination, “you’re right; it’s important we find it.” 

Dorian cocked an eyebrow as she spoke, but did not comment on her abrupt change of subject. “As you wish, Your Worship,” he said, with an exaggerated bow. 

“Oh, shut up.” Thalia dug her pole into the snow and started across the land bridge.

Standing among the ruins did nothing to tame them. The cracked stone walls surrounded them, and the silence, once peaceful, now held an ominous note. Thalia yearned for a gust of wind, just to make the place feel less like a tomb.

“Our research indicated this was an elven temple,” Dorian said quietly. They had assumed a defensive stance, backs facing each other, without thinking. “I’m not sure I believe that.”

“Why not?” 

Dorian gestured with a ski pole toward a pile of rubble poking out of a snow pile. “Because it has the layout of a fortress, does it not?” 

Thalia looked where he was pointing, and then around them. “Maybe. I’m not sure. There’s not enough left for me to tell, really.” She paused. “And I suppose you could say the Temple of Mythal served a dual purpose, couldn’t you?” 

“True.” 

Squinting, Thalia tried to picture what he meant. She supposed she could see it: if the crumbled walls they passed after leaving the landbridge was the entrance, they could be standing in the remains of some sort of courtyard. Or even an inner bailey. Did ancient elven even architecture have baileys? 

I bet Solas could have told me, Thalia thought, feeling a little queasy. 

Beside her, Dorian paced, leaving deeper and deeper impressions of his footprints in the snow. “The question is, if it is a fortress — what was it meant to protect?” 

“I don’t know.” Beyond the walls lay nothing but solid rock face. “There ought to be a door around here somewhere, shouldn’t there?”

“Precisely what I was thinking. Perhaps the stronghold is built into the mountain itself. It’s all a matter of finding it.” 

They began to walk the perimeter, scouring the mountainside for any sign of gaps, archways, or manmade carvings. Nothing revealed itself. The sheer rock wall extended up and up, ending in white-tipped peaks, and that was it. There was heavy snow all along the tips, Thalia noted, easily feet upon feet of it; the same sort of snow that obscured much of the site. “If there is an entrance somewhere, do you think perhaps the recent storm covered it up?” 

“Unlikely,” said Dorian. He stood a few yards away on a raised stone platform, his back to her. His voice sounded stilted and strange. 

Thalia frowned. “Dorian?” 

He glanced over his shoulder. He had paled considerably. “You should see this.”

“What is it?” Thalia frowned and hurried toward him, but he held out a palm to stay her. 

“Careful. No sudden moves, but…” He turned from her, looking over the far lip of the platform. “I think I’ve found our entrance.” 

Tenderly, Thalia picked her way up the small, crumbling steps to join him. The platform was made of an intricate pattern of ornately carved, octagonal-shaped slabs, fitting together in a pleasing geometric design. As she approached Dorian, she saw that a few feet from where Dorian stood, the stonework became cracked and uneven. Beyond that dropped off into only air.

“Good Andraste,” Thalia whispered. 

The black chasm was wide, and fell down, into total darkness; even the bright sunlight overhead could not penetrate its depths. 

Thalia demanded, “What the hell happened here?”

“I could not tell you,” Dorian said, “but I’m not sure it’s wise to get any closer.” 

That was apparent at a glance. Unlike Ramesh’s description of the mine at Hormak, there was no stair nor ladder, not even a likely location where they could set up a winch. This hole in the earth could not be man-made; instead, something terrible had caused a great collapse. But when? And why? 

Somewhere deep in the hole, something rumbled. 

It was faint at first. Thalia could have excused it as a distant groan of thunder — if it didn’t sound like it was coming from below them. Then, it grew louder, and louder still. The stone beneath their feet began to vibrate. 

“Whatever it is, I think we’ve worn out our welcome,” Dorian announced, and turned around to face her. 

Over his shoulder, a giant tentacle rose up out of the depths. 

Thalia had enough time to scream “Dorian!” before it attacked. The lumbering mass swung down violently at the ground near their feet. Some of the stones fell away into the abyss; the reverberation knocked both Thalia and Dorian backward. Thalia fell flat on her back, tried to to her feet, but the platform beneath her had shifted — tilted — downward. 

She let out an involuntary shriek as she slid toward the edge above the pit. One arm was all but useless: her prosthetic, in a crisis, became little more than dead weight. She clawed with her good hand, trying to lodge her fingers into a crack or crevice. Her legs flailed; her heels dug into the surface below her but would not gain a foothold. She hit a loose stone on her way down, which catapulted her into the air face first— 

And she halted. 

She was suspended over the edge, looking down into the yawning chasm, but she had stuck fast. Thalia looked behind her; her boot had lodged between two rocks; her scarf had come loose and wrapped itself around the branch of a spindly tree that clung to the lip of the pit’s overhang. Maybe if I can reach a branch myself, I can climb back up… 

Frantic, she looked around, but she ws alone. “Dorian?” she called. “Dorian?” 

“Oh, I’m right bloody here,” came a petulant voice from below.  

A few feet directly beneath her, Dorian clung to an exposed tree root, which was the only thing that kept him from falling. The tentacle had disappeared, but the rumbling still emitted from deep in the pit.

Dorian huffed. “So much for a scouting mission, eh?” 

 Thalia angled herself toward him and stretched out her arm. “Here, take my hand!” 

“Are you joking?” Dorian shot back. “You’ve only got one of them. How on earth are you even holding on?” 

“My foot’s anchored — don’t worry, just take it!” She wiggled her fingers, as if to prove how trustworthy they were.

“This was not how I planned to die,” Dorian grumbled, shimmying up the root to get in reach of her hand. “I wanted to be an old man, warm in bed, with a handsome someone’s mouth around my—”

“Dorian.” Straining, Thalia got in range of his outstretched limb and clamped her hand around his wrist. With all her might, she pulled. “Maker, you’re heavy!” 

“It’s not polite to make fun of one’s physical attributes in his final moments, my dear.” 

Gritting her teeth, Thalia tried to rear back and hook her other arm around the tree trunk to give her more leverage. She felt her prosthetic arm protest and buckle from the weight. If it detaches, I’m gonna lose him… 

With the additional force, Dorian slammed his hand onto the crumbling rock and hoisted himself back onto the platform. He grabbed at the tree and scrambled into it. Once safely nestled in the sturdy branches, he reached down and helped Thalia untangle her scarf and dislodge her foot from the rock crevice. It pulsed with pain and she was certain would be bruised black and blue, but it had saved them both. 

“So,” Thalia said with false cheer, once they had caught their breaths, “shall we hazard a guess as to what the hell that was?” 

As if in reply, the grotesque tentacle rose up once again out of the depths. It was a sickly grey in the light, covered in pseudopods and something else — what looked like it could be the outline of bones, eyes, and other orifices — but it was here and gone so quick it was difficult to tell. It swiped at them, missed, hit the remnants of the stone platform, causing the remains of the structure to crumble and fall. The noise from the collapse, joined with a tremendous bellow from below, shook the rocks, the tree, and the very air around them. 

And then above them all, high on the mountaintop, the snow began to slide. 

Dorian threw his arms around Thalia to shield her. The roar was deafening, and the avalanche whipped shards of snow and ice at their faces and clothes, but they were lucky — hanging above the pit in the tree, they were clear from its path. The snow fell directly into the chasm, and kept falling and falling. When at last the air cleared, there was no sign of the pit, the tentacle, or even of the ruins.

“Unless we send that raven to Cullen, and he can hire some strapping lads skilled at digging,” Dorian said blithely, “I fear we may never know.” 

[nirikeehan]

For the DADWC: Friolero (Spanish): Somebody who is very sensitive to the cold, a character study for the character of your choice!

Thank you for this prompt! I immediately thought of Dorian, and decided to combine this prompt with one from @fatale-distraction, who simply asked for some Thalia & Dorian fake dating shenanigans. Hope you enjoy!

For @dadrunkwriting

Word Count: 969

---

Outside the leaded glass windows, the snow fell in torrents of icy pinpricks. Thalia had never seen snow like it: so unlike the early-spring squalls of Haven, in which thick snowflakes floated lazily on the air like pollen. It was already a foot deep on the ground, the roads up into the frigid mountain pass barely dug out, causing treacherous conditions for their mounts. Approaching midday, a new storm had blown up, and continued unabated ever since. 

Thalia pulled her shawl closer around her and thanked the Maker for the stone keep that had emerged from the white-tipped pines. Their horses had a stable, and she and Dorian had a shelter, curious as it was. She had ducked into a nook near the common room’s fireplace, been offered a blanket and a steaming cup of tea by a servant, and spread out their research documents while Dorian negotiated with the proprietor. 

Thalia sat up on the sofa, stretching stiff arms surreptitiously over her head. Her prosthetic chafed and bruised more often than not. She often wished she didn’t have to wear it at all, but news had spread like wildfire throughout Thedas that the Inquisitor had lost her arm at the Exalted Council. Without a prosthetic, traveling incognito through the realm would be all but impossible. Thankfully, the other guests had excused themselves some time ago, and no one would notice the limbs under her shawl did not match in length. 

Just as Thalia debated reattaching her false arm and seeking out Dorian, her companion strolled into the room wearing a disgusted expression and several layers of the thickest traveling furs she had ever seen.

“What’s this?” she teased as he draped himself over the sofa opposite her. “Is there some sort of masquerade ball tonight, and you’re going as a bear?” 

“Oh, you are exquisitely funny, my dear,” Dorian retorted sourly. “Return to Emprise du Lion, Dorian, she said. It will be fun this time, she said. I’ll have you know, if the Fade were ever to freeze over, I’ve already felt its icy depths on mine fairest cheeks.”

“Surely it can’t be that bad,” Thalia said, stifling a giggle. 

Dorian sat up, so that he might inch himself closer to the fire. “Well, the blizzard is due to last days, according to the gracious Comte LaPubelle. But we are welcome to stay here and wait out the storm — as long as we pay a hefty premium, of course. As we do not have reservations.”  

“Reservations?” Thalia blinked. “You mean this isn’t his home, but rather some sort of, what, sanatorium?” 

“The term he used was ‘ski resort.’ Apparently, it’s the latest Orlesian fad to trek into the mountains to experience snow by strapping boards to your feet and going out in it — on purpose!” 

“Oh,” Thalia said, perplexed. “So the other people we saw before…?”

“Are lunatics for doing this in their leisure time? Oh, yes. They are also paying guests, and quite nosy. As I was waiting to speak to the Comte, one young lady was eager to learn why we were here.” 

Thalia’s eyes dropped to the table between them, strewn with their collected tomes, scrolls and notes — a constellation of clues they hoped would lead them to a forgotten temple at the mountain’s summit. She bit her lip. “What did you tell her?” 

Dorian shot her a devilish grin. “Oh, just that we were travelers out looking for adventure… to celebrate our recent wedding.” 

Thalia’s eyes widened. “You didn’t!” 

“Oh, I certainly did. That set her all a-titter, and then the good Comte emerged, and I was able to convince him to rent us the honeymoon suite. Water from some underground hot spring is pumped right into the privy, I hear. I intend to soak in a tub of it directly after dinner.”

“Dorian,” Thalia said carefully, “one of these days I worry this ruse is going to go too far.” 

“Why? They’ve taken our coin; the rest is of no consequence to them. It’s not like they’ll be standing outside the door and listening to determine if we’ve consummated our vows.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Besides, it’s excellent cover. Once the storm subsides, these eager ‘skiiers’ will want to go out onto the wilderness, yes? They even have a guide that leads them along the mountain trails. What better opportunity is there than for us to get to where we need to go?” 

Thalia furrowed her brow. “That would work, but only up to a point. Then what? We get conveniently ‘lost’ from the group and are— presumed dead?” 

“Goodness, let’s hope not. Only if we don’t come back alive, I suppose.” Dorian’s tone was light, but his words reminded her that the charming accommodations aside, there was no guarantee the temple would be where they thought it was, nor that it would be safe to traverse if it was. “No, we can guiltily tell them we stopped for amorous relations to warm ourselves up, or some such. Idiotic nobles can get away with almost anything, you know that as well as I.” 

“True enough.” The plan might be slightly harebrained, but it was probably the best option they had. Thalia paused, watching the fire as it leapt and crackled. “Can’t wait to see you tie one of these planks to your feet and go falling face-first into the snow, though.”

Dorian let out a barking laugh. “Oh, do not get too smug, my dear. The honeymoon suite has only the one bed, and I’m not gentleman enough to offer to take the floor.” 

Thalia snorted. “I’m sure there’ll be enough room for both of us. Maybe this time I’ll even let you be the big spoon.” 

“Not on your life.” 

Outside the window, the snow continued to fall.

[nirikeehan]

Happy Friday! For DADWC, I'm gonna mix it up and say something nice for Dorian for once. "Companion" from the Valentine's list?

YAAAAS thank you, I love him so much!

So poor Dorian never got a love interest in Thalia’s timeline, but they had such a deep abiding friendship I think they probably would fake date each other just to spite Thedas's elite. I played around with that idea here.

For @dadrunkwriting (and @14daysdalovers tho I'm def over the deadline, oops!)

Characters: Dorian Pavus & Thalia Trevelyan

Word Count: 954

---

A cool breeze blew through the twilit garden party, a welcome reprieve from the day’s heat. Dorian held a flute of sweet red, watching the servants light the lamps. As fetes went, this one was less eventual than most. He had only overheard talk of four salacious affairs, two plotted assassinations, and a single heated argument over the acknowledgement of a love child. Orlais loved to boast its Game, but all too often he found it pedestrian to the goings-on in the Imperium.

Some dowager Comtesse with a distant Pavus relation had caught his ear, much to his chagrin. She was prattling on effervescently about finding him a good match; word of his disgrace had evidently not yet reached that particular branch on the family tree. He scanned the crowd and spotted Thalia by an ornate topiary, surrounded by similar vultures. A crease of annoyance grew ever more present in her brow.

“If you’ll excuse me, Auntie,” Dorian said, “I spy a fair young lady in need of rescue.”

The Comtesse looked to the Inquisitor and nodded in approval. “Well, dear, you’d best move quickly. They all have marriage proposals well-practiced on their tongues, mark my words.”

Smooth as silk, Dorian slipped through the idle hordes and through the opening between the suitors. He slid his arm through Thalia’s. “There you are, darling! I thought I’d lost you in these vast and beautiful gardens. And who are these fine gentlemen— ah, and lady?” he amended, noting one of the masked faces was in fact a woman. Orlesian customs were strange, but he had to admire their openness in certain social mores.

With natural grace, Thalia hooked her arm around his and leaned into Dorian’s shoulder. The Trevelyans may have locked her away in a mage prison for a decade, but under Josephine’s careful tutelage Thalia had honed her diplomatic skills. She shot him a flirtatious glance, though only he spotted the relief in her eyes. “Oh, sweet pea, you’ve arrived just in time. My friends, have you had the pleasure of meeting Dorian of House Pavus? He’s here all the way from the Tevinter Imperium.”

A round of milquetoast introductions ensued, and the rabble soon dispersed. “That ought to keep them at bay while the gossip holds out. A week or two at least.” Dorian took a sip of his wine.

“Thank you,” Thalia whispered. “I thought I’d never get rid of them.”

“It was a mutually beneficial maneuver. Auntie Dowager Comtesse over there is surely about to send a raven home to Father. He’ll think I might be cured after all.”

Thalia laughed lightly. “Perhaps we ought to give the marriage of convenience idea serious thought. It sounds like it would solve both our problems.”

“Please.” Dorian chuckled. He might have found himself hopelessly without prospects here in the south, but his friend was selling herself short. “As if there hasn’t been a certain lovelorn Commander making eyes at you from the buffet table all afternoon.”

“What?” Thalia craned her neck to see over his shoulder, where Cullen stood in all his uniformed finery. His handsome face contained barely concealed disdain for what Dorian assumed was the very concept of a fancy party. When he caught Thalia looking, his dour expression softened and a smile blossomed on his lips.

“See?” Dorian said, as Cullen managed a surreptitious wave. “You ought to go over and say hello.”

Blushing, Thalia turned away and gripped Dorian’s arm tighter. “Oh, I couldn’t.”

“And why not? A few well-placed words and you’ll have the man eating out of your hand. You know that as well as I.”

“I never said I wanted him eating out of my hand, Dorian.” Thalia’s voice sharpened. “I’m done with men throwing themselves at my mercy, thank you.”

“Come now. Cullen is nothing like Blackwa— ah, forgive me, what was his name again?” Dorian remembered, but feigned ignorance often yielded more insight than direct questions.

“Thom Rainier,” Thalia said, with the weight of a woman desperately in love.

Dorian stifled a sigh. He didn’t know that much about their interactions beforehand, but at Rainier’s judgment he had not acted like a man intending to throw himself at her mercy. In fact, he’d seemed quite furious at the prospect of being rescued and atoning for his sins. Thalia knew it too — Dorian could hear it in her tone. He was not sure what she had expected from the whole affair, but if it was gratitude, she certainly hadn’t received it.

She deserved better than a man so intent upon self-destruction.

“Cullen is nothing like Rainier,” Dorian said, keeping his voice low. Among the Orlesian nobility, the name still inspired vehemence. He had only recently withdrawn from a conversation lamenting the injustice caused by Rainier’s escape from the noose. “He’ll eat out of your hand politely, and then thank you for the opportunity.”

Thalia’s face broke into a grin, and she had to press a hand against her mouth to stifle a laugh. “All right, you may have a point.”

“Of course I do. All of my points are excellent.” Dorian smirked into his wine glass. “So are you going over there, or must I endure yet another mopey chess game as the Commander pines after your affections?”

“Stop it,” Thalia cautioned, swatting a playful hand at his arm. She glanced behind them and her eyes widened. “That might have to wait. Don’t look now, but your dowager aunt is headed this way.”

“Oh, dear.” Dorian struck his most dashing pose. Romance could be fickle, but friends one could act out elaborate ruses with didn’t happen along every day. “Shall we take our places?”

They shared a conspiratorial giggle, and composed themselves for the encore.

[nirikeehan]

Many Sentences Monday?

I got tagged by @fandomn00blr for a late rendition of Six Sentence Sunday! So I will break format and share probably more than six sentences. I am working on a prompt fill for DA Drunk Writing that involves some Thalia and Dorian fake dating shenanigans. Here they are posing as a couple to try to gain access to a forbidden section of a Tevinter university library. Minrathous has a university, right? I have done zero research on Tevinter's setting as of this draft LOL

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“I understand I am to leave here disappointed,” Thalia said coldly. “And let down by the false promises of my betrothed, besides.”

“Betrothed?” the librarian repeated, arching an eyebrow at Dorian. “You’re marrying this woman?”

“Why do you sound surprised?” Dorian shot back.

The librarian backpedaled. “I’m not surprised, my lord, not at all! It’s simply, one hears— er, shall we say, certain gossip—”

“Ah yes, I see the lies and slander have reached every echelon of Tevinter society,” Dorian said. “I swear, one goes south for a year, and while he’s busy saving the world, all sorts of salacious rumor about him pop up amongst the idle elite.”

“Forgive me, sir,” the librarian implored. The lobby to the Rare Book Collection was small and airless, and Thalia could see sweat breaking out on his brow. “I did not mean to offend such an illustrious figure in Tevinter society.” 

Dorian huffed. “Well, offended I am. Twice over, in fact. First you make me a fool in front of my fiancee, whom I promised could see for herself the rarest collection of books on the continent, and now you are making insinuations about my social character. I ought to put in a complaint to your superior—”

“Oh, there is no need for that, Magister Pavus,” the poor librarian insisted, and pulled a jangling collection of keys out of the pocket of his robes. “I, er, certainly understand the importance of making one’s spouse happy. I can, perhaps, offer a half an hour while you are certain not to be disturbed?” 

“It will have to do, I suppose,” Dorian said, looking to Thalia. Suppressing a smirk, she gave him a nearly imperceptible nod. 

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Tagging it forward under the cut!

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