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no I can’t quite conceive what
all of this means
I might be wrong but, darling,
can’t you see
Dorian hadn’t known what beauty was like before him. He understood the concept, had thought, perhaps, that it applied to him. He had liked to think he surrounded himself with the finer things before fleeing Tevinter.
And then he met the Inquisitor.
The elf, as Dorian saw it, was the definition of beauty. Not just in the physical sense but in his heart. He didn’t understand how a man who had seen so much violence, himself having killed so many people, still be hopeful .
He wasn’t blind or naive when it came to humans and mages and the such, no. He genuinely believed that change was possible. And why not, thought Dorian. He was leading the charge. He was out there, on the field, helping damn near everyone that he came across, making sure his friends were taken care of, and watching over his clan.
Lavellan may not have seen his beauty but he understood that what he was doing was good. He was confident and aware. He wasn’t held down by shame, like Dorian. He lived as he fought - with grace and no hesitation.
How could Dorian not fall in love?
Love was, as generally agreed upon by most in Tevinter, an inconvenience. It was a weakness. And it was, when it was misplaced, as Dorian had learned (the hard way, of course, with his father and mother and Rilienus).
How could Lavellan ever be an inconvenience?
this bond between us seems so special to me
some kind of clear unspoken chemistry
It was oddly familiar, longing for a man so much better, so much more than he could ever hope for. There was a friendship there, a sense of camaraderie that he hadn’t experienced before. Sitting together, drinking, as Cullen slowly lost each article of clothing, Dorian felt something settle.
Something here, sitting around with all these people (his friends ) felt right. With Lavellan at his side and his friends at his back, perhaps Dorian could afford to love.
the message you’re sending is mixed
I’m broken, I need to be fixed
I’m in need of attention; I’m in need of love
Dorian found his Inquisitor out in the garden, one night, sitting at the chess table. He was staring unfocused at the empty seat across from him. Great minds think alike. He took his usual spot to brood in, at least at this hour.
The garden was better for this kind of night, anyway. Too high up and he might consider jumping. He knew better than to go to a roof on nights like these.
Not after Rilienus.
And yet, the Inquisitor. “The crickets must not be very interesting company to have you so far away.”
“Dorian,” Lavellan said, softly, with a light smile. “They’re better than most, I’m afraid.”
“Not better than me, I should hope. What has you awake at this hour?”
The Inquisitor sighed. “Homesickness, I suppose. I miss my clan. It will pass, however. I figured that listening to crickets was a better way to spend my night than staring at a ceiling.”
“I don’t wish to intrude, if you wish to be left alone. However, if you find yourself in need of company and an ear, I would like to stay.”
“I had wished you would. Sit. There’s not much to talk about, unfortunately. What has you wandering Skyhold tonight?”
Chains and blood. Pain, gone, crack, and silence. Screaming out. No, not father. “A topic for another time, I believe.” Dorian sat across from Lavellan and leaned forward, elbows on the table.
“Dorian.”
Dorian looked up, not realizing that his gaze had dropped, unseeing, to the board.
The elf reached across the table, his hand held out. Dorian took it as the offer for comfort that it was and nothing more. “I’m here for you, you know. You’ve got friends. Don’t forget that, alright?”
Dorian searched Lavellan’s face for a beat before responding, for once confident in his place here. “I know.”
she’s the rope that holds me
yes, I know she knows me well enough
she’s the fire that blinds me,
leaves my fears behind me for a while
Dorian looked out the window in his alcove in the library, the conversation with his father refusing to leave him. Could he have been telling the truth? Truly? Could a person change that much? He had yet to see such a change in a person and yet he hoped.
“I miss you, Dorian. I’m not here to bring you home. I know now that I could never control you.”
“Then why? Why make the trip here, on the off-chance that I may be informed and see you? What happened?”
His father smiled at him, something that Dorian had tried so hard to do in his youth. “I’ve come to apologize. It seems as though age has given me more clarity than I would care for.”
In this instance, it would be too easy to hope. Too easy to accept his father’s words as face value. He may love the man that raised him, yes, but too much had happened for there to be trust.
“Dorian?”
“He says we're alike. Too much pride. Once I would have been overjoyed to hear that. Now I’m not certain. I don’t know if I can forgive him.”
Brave. The Inquisitor had thought him brave. He ran, is what happened. Others would call it cowardliness.
And then, for his bravery, he gets harassed by Mother Giselle. And then the Inquisitor gets pulled into it, because it's one thing to be from Tevinter. It’s another to be a gay mage from Tevinter who is friendly with the most powerful man in Thedas and flirt with him. Harmlessly. On occasion.
He had named Lavellan his friend, which is not wrong, but he hadn’t planned on making sure that the man knew it. Kaffas, he might as well have confessed right there and then.
It’s no matter, he thought. Life went on. He read, played chess with Cullen, gossiped with Vivienne, begged Josephine to order something better than what they served in the Tavern. He drank with the Chargers and halfheartedly flirted with Bull.
For once, Dorian had a happy sense of normal. Besides wandering the countryside and killing demons and bandits and whatever else his dear Inquisitor decided needed killing, at least.
Of course it didn’t last.
no, I can’t quite describe what’s before my eyes
and it’s something you can’t see that I can’t hide
Now, Dorian knows he can’t blame Cole. He was trying to help, after all. And it's not as if he had made a scene, either. He merely up and left the camp, away from the warm fire, from his friends.
It’s not the first time Cole had said something a little too personal, too on the nose. It was never something that involved another in the party, however.
“It’s different from your love-and-hurt knot of your father.”
“What? No, Cole-”
“He hurts you, but not on purpose. It’s your own fault, for loving a man like him. Too important, too good. He belongs to the cause, and to his clan. It hurts so much but you can’t stop loving him.”
The party sat, each person pausing in their meal to see how he would react. Varric seemed as if he was ready to put himself in between the spirit and him. Bull looked between Lavellan and Dorian. And Lavellan.
Lavellan wouldn’t look away from Cole.
He never once glanced in his direction.
“I’m sorry,” Cole said, his words lost on his back.
Dorian allowed himself to be cradled by the roots of one of the enormous trees by the creek. Humiliating. Perhaps the elf won’t make the connection, too concerned about a friend to think about Cole’s meaning. Bull knew, of course. Had known. If I’ve any luck left, Dorian thought, he will be the one the others send to find me.
“Dorian.”
Kaffas, of course. He closed his eyes and damn near split his head open against the base of the tree. No, he wouldn’t have any left, would he?
His eyes stayed closed as Lavellan came closer, his steps nearly silent as he invaded his personal space. The creaking of leather and the warmth in the surrounding air forced Dorian to open his eyes to confirm that, yes, the elf is crouched in front of him, balanced to make sure that they were at eye level.
“Who was Cole talking about, Dorian?”
His shoulders fell, either from disappointment or relief, he couldn’t say. “It's not of import.”
“It is if it bothers you like this. You’re my friend. Let me help.” Maker, he sounded as if listening to Dorian whine would be a blessing.
“Now you sound like Cole,” He mustered up a smile.
Lavellan must have seen how broken of an attempt it was. He wasn’t a fool.
He gave up the smile.
“I have a hunch.”
“Do you?” He asked. He watched as Lavellan’s eyes darted from his own to his mouth and back up. He felt his mouth go dry.
“Stop me if I’m wrong,” He whispered, his face slowly (and not as quickly as Dorian would like) filled up his vision.
“Never,” Dorian returned, the word brushing against Lavellan’s mouth before he found his mark.
He didn’t kiss the Inquisitor like a man dying, no matter how much he felt as such. Lavellan kissed him like he was precious, as if this was a gift.
Something else clicked inside, settling right next to the place of correctness he felt surrounded by his friends.
This was right, he thought, this is love.
It didn’t hurt.
And he hoped.
I tried to avoid all these thoughts inside
when you’re the only thing that’s on my mind