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An abbreviated rumble at his hip woke Dorian from what he could only describe as the shortest, worst nap of his life. A quill still gripped in one hand he pushed himself upright with the other, pinning in place the unanswered invitation that threatened to stick to his cheek. As a sign that the Maker had not entirely abandoned him, he noted that there wasn't any ink smeared across the surface.
All he needed were the servants tattling to his advisors that he had ink on his face. Mae really was going to give him eight shades of hell if she found out he was sleeping at his desk. Again.
The buzzing sound was more urgent the second time, now accompanied by a brief flicker of green, blue and purple light, throwing shadows around the Archon's darkened study. Dorian started as he realized the source of the noise and put down the quill, snapping his fingers with a brief burst of magic. The fireplace flickered to life, and then a succession of discreetly placed lights around the room began to gently glow.
"… are you going to pick up, or are you having too much fun to talk with old friends?" a woman's voice sniped gently from the message stone as he finally retrieved it from his pocket. A tightness in his chest he hadn't realized was there loosened as he relaxed back into his chair.
"Fun is not something Archons have, my dearest," Dorian smiled despite himself. "It's entirely too common. I believe we're allowed some sophisticated entertainments from time to time, but it is all quite dull. But you know I will always have time to talk with The Inquisitor, even if she has retired."
"You'd better, even if it is an indecent hour," Selynn chided, the Free Marcher accent clipping at her syllables along with her amusement. How he missed their banter. "Solas and I have news, and I just couldn't wait to tell you."
"And how is that patronizing, pilgarlic, pigheaded paramour of yours? In quite rude health I assume?" Dorian drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he fished around in a nearby drawer to little success. The terrible thing about people cleaning up after you was that sometimes decided you didn't get to keep bottles of expensive alcohol close to hand where anyone could poison them. Like desk drawers.
"Dorian, I am starting to think you have a whole list of those lined up each time his name is mentioned," Selynn laughed, her voice ringing like a bell in the quiet room. Dorian could have sworn he heard Solas grumbling somewhere in the background but it was always hard to tell. He never knew when they would call, but over the last several months their chats had become a highlight in a long list of days punctuated mostly with paperwork.
"Is there any chance for a truce in the near future? Do you just want to tell me all of them at once? I know you have something truly spectacular planned for 'x' or I don't know you at all."
"Oh, you know, one has to take time with these things, and I'm already halfway through the alphabet," Dorian fiddled with the quill for a second, cursing inwardly as he dragged a splotch of ink across the corner of the blotter. "I am entirely sure that by the time I work my way around to 'zestless, zymotic zealot' I may have started to forgive his part in your absence enough to occasionally use his given name. On feasting holidays, as a treat."
"How about in person? You should get to see the face he makes when you choose a really good word," Selynn asked, mirth curling around her voice, heavy with emotion. "We can have tea, tiny cakes, gossip, sandwiches, and insults, just like you always described your childhood."
Dorian froze, not daring to draw breath for a brief moment as the possibility lit through his mind like fire through dry brush.
"I must have hit the elfroot a little hard after dinner, because I am pretty sure I just hallucinated that I heard you and the Elven God of Lies inviting me over for tea."
"First of all, I am—"
"Yes, yes," Dorian waved his free hand in the air, dismissing whatever indignant rant from Solas was about to ensue. "We all know. Not a god. I am just saying that the last time representatives of powerful, ancient elves tempted a Tevinter Magister into the Fade on promises of delights, it did not go well."
"It may be a little time before it's safe, but please say you'll come when we're ready," Selynn said, serious this time.
"Of course I will, don't be ridiculous," Dorian rolled his eyes, unable to keep the fondness in his heart from threading through his words. "You had me thoroughly convinced with little cakes and gossip. That I get to avoid the endless tedium of paperwork is an appealing bonus. As long as there isn't a giant nightmare squatting in the background like the last time I was in the Fade, I promise to be on my best behavior."
"Best behavior?"
"Most probably not, but I will certainly be sparkling and witty anyway," Dorian admitted, brushing at his robes which he just now noticed were stained with ink. He really did need to stop sleeping at his desk. "Just let me know when, and I will be there with little bells on if necessary."