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The steady scratch of a quill filled the room.
Dorian had long since lost track of how many letters he’d written. The desk before him was a battlefield of its own — half-burned books, missives stained with ash and blood, coded notes from the Shadow Dragons. Lamplight washed over the stone walls, revealing a structure that had miraculously remained standing after the dragon attack. And yet, the air still felt rotten with the blight, its reach ever-present across the city.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging away the throb behind his eyes. His shoulders ached. His hands cramped. Minrathous was still bleeding, and already the work of holding it together threatened to drown him.
A sharp knock cut through the quiet.
Dorian didn’t bother looking up. “I’m busy,” he snapped, driving the quill harder into the parchment. “If this is another request for resources I do not have, the answer is no.”
Silence followed.
He exhaled through his nose, irritation simmering. Most recruits knew better than to disturb him this late. Especially when he wasn't expecting anyone.
Another knock came — softer, though no less insistent.
Dorian’s fingers stilled, his grip tightening. “Wonderful,” he grumbled.
He pushed himself to his feet, joints protesting as he crossed the office in long strides. One hand went to the door, his mind already boiling with sharp retorts.
He yanked it open. “This had better be important—”
The words vanished in his throat.
Marel stood in the doorway, his broad frame unmistakable even in the dim light. Every inch of him was covered in steel, worn from travel and battle alike, as if he’d walked straight out of a war and into Dorian’s office. Golden eyes met his, warm and achingly familiar.
For a moment, the world narrowed to that gaze.
“I was hoping you’d make an exception,” Marel said quietly.
Dorian released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“Marel.”
The name cracked as it left his lips, carrying months of absence in a single sound. It had been too long since fate had torn them apart once more. Dorian’s fingers tightened on the doorframe as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.
Marel’s throat worked. “Sorry I didn’t call before—”
Dorian didn’t let him finish.
He closed the distance between them, silencing him with a kiss.
It began as little more than a brush of lips — tender, tentative. Marel sighed against his mouth, hands reaching for Dorian’s waist, his touch impossibly soft despite the gauntlets he wore. He tasted of elfroot and crushed herbs, of healing potions and roads long traveled.
Dorian pulled back only to cradle Marel’s face, thumbs tracing his jaw as if to reassure himself that he was real.
“Amatus,” he murmured, worry threading his voice. “I didn’t expect to see you unannounced. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” Marel tilted his head, leaning further into his touch. “I just had a meeting with Caelen. I needed to see you too.”
Dorian followed the sharp line of Marel’s cheekbone, lingering there a second too long. The world was falling apart — again — and yet Marel was here, breathing, alive beneath his palms. His shoulders loosened.
“You always have a talent for appearing when I am one inconvenience away from strangling someone,” Dorian murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Truly impeccable timing.”
Marel huffed, close enough that they could share the same breath. Still, his eyes searched Dorian’s face with a hunter’s precision. “You look tired, vhenan.”
Dorian scoffed, feigning indignation. “Frankly. After all this time, I was rather hoping for a more romantic greeting.”
Marel’s smile grew. “Easy enough.”
Another kiss followed, unhurried and fond. The kind that brought a flutter to Dorian’s chest. Marel circled his thumbs over his back, and Maker, Dorian would have given anything to feel that touch without barriers of leather and steel between them. His fingers slid to the nape of Marel’s neck, where crimson hair was pulled back tight.
If only they had more time.
Dorian would loosen each strap, unbuckle every piece of armor, until there was nothing left but skin and taut muscle beneath his hands. Instead, he had to settle for fleeting luxuries.
His lashes fell shut as Marel kissed him again and again — the corner of his lips, his cheekbone, his forehead. Each one left a trail of heat behind, making him feel more alive than he’d been for the past few weeks.
“I missed you,” Marel whispered at last, their foreheads touching.
“So did I, amatus.” Dorian couldn’t help a sigh. After a pause, he added, “You won’t be here long, will you?”
Marel pursed his lips, drawing back to meet his gaze. “I need to be in the South before dawn.”
“Of course.” Dorian nodded, understanding flickering through his eyes. “Thedas does have a habit of unraveling the moment you look away.”
“I still have an hour,” Marel said, hands trailing carefully along Dorian’s back. “I want to spend it with you.”
Dorian’s eyes gleamed in the low light. He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to Marel’s lips, as if time itself might bend if he wished hard enough.
“Then stay a little while,” he murmured. “I suppose that’s enough time to brief you on the Magisterium’s latest scandals.”
Marel chuckled, skeptical. “That usually takes longer than an hour.”
“I shall do my best to summarize.”
"Alright," Marel conceded. “I’m listening.”
Dorian smiled — soft, sincere — and guided him inside.