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Dorian Pavus was the most infuriating person Var had ever the chance to meet. He was arrogant, he was vain, he couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut when it mattered. He had to comment on everything and everyone, jab and twist and pull and push, never quiet, always patronizing. He was tactless and nosy, and all he cared about was him alone.
Var hated it.
He hated the man and he definitely hated that all his character flaws were the best thing about him, that all those terrible things defined him and made him amazing and charismatic, and sorely missed when he wasn’t around.
Var didn’t understand why or how it happened, but one day he found himself wondering how this man spend his days, what he thought about, why he spent so much time in a Skyhold’s library when Fiona was constantly harassing him, or when Mother Giselle keep on making her passive-aggressive remarks about his Tevinter origin.
Dorian stayed charming and blocked all with humour (or irony, his constant chatter was always filled with sarcastic remarks or precisely aimed jabs that made Var cringe when it hit the sore spot, but he could never actually lash out at him for being rude, because it was cocooned in a strange non-offensive tone that made it sound clean – not rude, although definitely mean, but in a weird well-mannered style with pompous words and placating smiles). He remained in the library, occasionally visited the tavern to have a invective conversation with Bull that usually ended with the Qunari drinking everyone under the table but Dorian who just smiled enigmatically like he knew something the other man didn’t, and Var thought that yes, yes he must have.
The Iron Bull and Dorian were antagonizing each other for weeks, Dorian accusing the Qunari he smells, Bull kept on making nasty remarks about “polishing his staff”. It made the Tevinter mage groan, but the corner of his mouth always twitched up slightly, and Var was very sure he enjoyed the banter as much as Bull did.
Dorian knew he was considered potentially dangerous. Var saw it on him, he noticed the small pauses that the mage did when he talked to somebody, as if holding back, carefully choosing what to say and what to leave out. Being Tevinter made him an easy target, as if being a mage wasn’t bad enough. Var could relate to that, his magical powers always earned him suspicious glances and a palpable distance wherever he went. With the Inquisitor title it was a slightly different cause though, he had to admit. As if the staff on his back suddenly disappeared, people feared him from wholesomely different reasons now (his mark, his power, his influence, his so-called-blessing by Andraste).
It was difficult. Being a mage always had been, but being a leader of this huge organization made him often giddy and unsure, and he tried masking it under easy smiles and playful banter.
With all this he realized he was not that different from Dorian after all, and that often gave him a pause. Not to mention Sera already made the comment about him getting Dorian’s manners, being cheekier, less humble, dealing with things from above.
“It’s good, ya know, it’s perfect, go on with it,” she grinned at him widely in the tavern, pushing a big goblet of ale towards him, probably hoping she could make him drunk sooner than Bull was going to attempt that again. The Qunari always succeeded anyway. “You were too stiff, yeah? Like a tit in winter, you needed to loosen up a bit. He did a good job on ya.”
“He didn’t do any job on me,” Var grumbled into his drink and immediately cringed at the suggestion, hoping, almost desperately, that Sera didn’t notice, but her wide smile and sparkling eyes told him that he wasn’t lucky.
“So that’s it, ha? Him not doing you?”
“By the Maker, Sera, please,” he pleaded her in a low voice. “It’s not like that, please-,”
“Ohoho, I can see riiiight through you, yeah yeah. No more hiding, ser. You are too deep in this shit, I can tell,” she didn’t show any mercy and Var wanted to dissolve and leak through the floor right that moment. Sera was loud and obnoxious at the normal state, but since she was already slightly drunk, her voice rang through the tavern like a bell, luring all kind of stares towards their table.
“I hear gossip, that’s my cue,” Varric appeared out of thin air and Var groaned, hiding his face in his sleeve. This couldn’t be happening. One slip of a tongue, one badly formulated sentence, that was all it took for this to become a disaster. He only prayed to anyone who would listen, to the Maker, to Andraste, to whatever thing out there, that tonight Dorian decided to stay in the library, that today the planets were in a weird position to leave the tower, that he wasn’t going to make Var’s life more miserable than it already was.
“So what’s the big news?” Varric pried, putting down his ale in front of him, and sat down with a leer on his face. “Or better the deep shit you fell into?”
“It’s no-,”
“It’s Dorian,” Sera didn’t spare him, of course. The wide grin was probably permanently etched to her face now, giving her a little maniacal glint in her eyes. “Our Worship wants him to do a job on him.”
“Ooooh,” Varric leered even more and suddenly there was a paper and a quill and he was looking expectantly at Var. “Do tell!”
“No!” Var shot back, terrified. “There is nothing, stop assuming!”
“Assuming?” Varric raised an eyebrow. “Assuming what? No one cares you’re seeing Sparkles, it actually did you good.”
“I’m not- stop calling him Sparkles,” Var sighed, trying to formulate a proper response (even though he wasn’t sure if there was a proper response for that) when a similar sigh sounded behind him, with the “Alas, thank you!” that made Var freeze.
Dorian sat heavily on the last free space around the table, his face a pure exasperation when he was looking at Varric with a critical eye.
“It fits!” the dwarf protested. “Just look at you, everybody think so.”
“Our Lord Inquisitor doesn’t share that opinion, Varric,” Dorian opposed, his eyes skimming towards Var momentarily. “I actually heard him saying stop calling him Sparkles, loud and clear.”
“Must have been the tavern ruckus, he was actually agreeing with me,” Varric winked at Var happily, apparently enjoying the exchange and Var only groaned.
“Certainly,” Dorian smirked and Var realized that him, a mage, always right and proper, and maybe also a little tight-lipped and scared was getting swayed by this terrible, terrible man by a one stupid smirk, at this concrete moment.
Or maybe… just maybe the first moment he met him at Redcliff. All noble and important, leading Var through the future and back. Maybe that was already the catalyst, Var didn’t know. But sitting here, now, with the Tevinter right beside him, it all started to make sense.
“So the secret is out?” Dorian gave him a look, all bright and mischievous, even though his face was a perfectly controlled mask of a fake surprise.
“Wha-,”
“I knew we couldn’t maintain the secrecy for very long,” the Tevinter gave out a long sigh, the drama queen, and Var very well noticed how Varric’s eyes lit up at that, eager to hear every bit. “It was just question of time when someone will put one and one together, right, my dear?”
“You sound like Vivienne,” Var only grumbled in response, giving up. Dorian sneered a little at that and leaned back in his chair.
“She made dear off limits, it’s unfair. It used to be my favourite pet name,” he commented with a pout. “How should I call you now? Thinking of me as Vivienne during nice times is seriously killing the mood.”
“Call him Lord Inquisitor,” Sera snickered. “Kinky.”
“Or Your Worship!” Varric added. “I’m sure that would make the mood explode!”
“My lord!” Sera threw another.
“Get back to the basic, how about the Herald?” Varric piped and Var whimpered.
“Naughty little mage!” Sera shrieked with drunk laughter and fell under the table, and stayed there.
“Aren’t they a creative duo, hm?” Dorian chuckled, watching how Varric checked if Sera was still alive, and Var gave the Tevinter an evil eye.
“You are enjoying this, aren’t you,” he accused him, but it didn’t have any real heat in it.
“Immensely,” Dorian confirmed it with a charming smile. “How could I not?”
“You don’t mind?”
“That they think I’m sleeping with you?” the dark haired mage gave him a curious look and Var nodded silently. It was, after all, something that could spread like a wild fire, and definitely make both of them look a lot different again, shape the opinions of others like a razor. Var found out he wasn’t very bothered about what people thought of him, not when he got a new nickname almost every day and already got lost in it, but Dorian was an enigma. At times Var thought he was disinterested in what people thought of him. At other occasions he almost seemed like it was the most important thing in the world, to have a persona with high valued reputation. Var didn’t know what to make of it.
“I’m flattered,” Dorian concluded. “They actually assume the Herald of Andraste is interested in a Tevinter mage, not that I’d be too surprised. It’s me after all. But it’s like mage and Templar love, things like those write the cheesiest love novels. You can ask your dwarf friend about that.”
“I agree,” Varric chimed from the other side of the table, apparently already giving up on snoring Sera under his feet.
“But it’s not true,” Var pointed.
“Ouch,” Varric piped on Dorian’s behalf and the Tevinter chuckled. The implication got to Var a bit later and he stuttered to remedy that.
“No, I meant, not that I’m not interested,” he blurted out fast, making Varric laugh. “I mean, that we are not-not like that.”
“We are not,” Dorian shrugged.
“I don’t believe that,” the dwarf commented.
“Believe what you want,” Var barked at him.
“I believe you share the bed,” Varric said.
“I believe his bed is a lot more comfortable,” Dorian added.
“I believe you two are having too much fun with this,” Var uttered and drowned himself in his ale, trying to ignore their laughter.
***
Var wasn’t seeing Dorian Pavus.
Or yes, ofcourse he saw him, he travelled and he talked with him, but they weren’t involved. He tried very hard to ignore Varric’s meaningful glances and Sera’s occasional suggestions for new nicknames that they could use in bed. He also tried to ignore that Dorian was a charming, attractive individual who against all odds was a loyal companion and a very gifted fighter. Who appealed to him not only physically, but by a majority of things also mentally. His small quirks of a character, those arrogant little notions – it was but a game that Dorian knew how to play masterfully. He wore a mask and he was very good at it – hiding behind a wall of arrogance and selfishness so people didn’t really get to know him if he didn’t let them.
Var wondered if he knew him.
They talked more now. They sat in the library or they went for a stroll around the Skyhold, they mused about the perfect schematic for a new staff, they drank in the tavern, they even trained. Var was amazed by the skill and a literal grace that Dorian manifested, Tevinter or not, he was just very good at what he did. He fought great and looked amazing while doing it – Var thought it was his life motto as well. Be fierce, but always look good while at it.
Var felt himself opening up to him. He shared what he normally guarded highly, he could laugh more freely, he actually started to understand the little nuances in Dorian’s humour, recognizing when he was serious and when he only teased. Those small, at first meaningless things, made him feel better about this whole thing.
And also better about the inevitable thought of him falling for Dorian Pavus.
***
They weren’t talking. Var got a thank you, but the usual banter subsided. They were dead silent, not sparing a glance. It felt unnatural and others started to notice as well. Cassandra even cornered Var and interrogated him about what happened and how was it going to affect their work, and Var told her the truth.
He didn’t know.
He spent a lot of time with the reports, he buried himself in work. He ran around the Skyhold from place to place, alone, and people were asking for his companion with innocence of the bystanders.
“Busy,” Var was saying. “He is too busy.”
Was he? Var didn’t even know. He avoided the library for most of the time, he didn’t even come to the tavern when someone hadn’t literally dragged him there to lose up a little (Bull had that streak in him, he just grabbed him like a sack of potatoes and that was the end of the discussion).
It took four days.
On the fifth day Var found Dorian standing at the door of his chambers, pacing around impatiently and it looked so strange on him Var had to watch him first in confusion before he cleared his throat to alert him of his presence.
The pacing stopped and Dorian stood there with closed off expression, his eyes dark and unreadable. It gave Var a little pause – his eyes were always the best indication of his true intentions. But now he couldn’t say.
“How much longer?” Dorian asked in a controlled voice and Var raised an eyebrow.
“How much longer of what?”
“Of this,” the Tevinter gestured impatiently in between them. “Five days of nothing. How much longer?”
“You cut me off,” the Inquisitor said simply. Was it simple? Maybe it was.
“You made me angry,” Dorian shot back.
“You almost died,” Var opposed.
“That sounds rich coming from you,” another precise remark that made Var clench his fists.
“It scared me,” he bit out and Dorian frowned.
“Death?” the Tevinter asked incredulously and Var shook his head.
“You don’t understand,” he sighed, running his hand through his hair. He wasn’t sure if he understood by himself.
“You care about me,” Dorian said simply, but it sounded a little angry, unhappily, and that confused the Inquisitor to no end.
“Of course I do,” he replied warily.
“A lot,” Dorian added, but his expression didn’t change. A smug smile would fit there, something the normal, happy Dorian would do, but nothing came.
“Yes,” Var confirmed it. He didn’t see a single reason why not to. He was tired of hiding, tired of avoiding this man, and tired of wondering how it could be if he said something, if he asked, if he made sure how Dorian feels.
“So how much longer?” the dark haired mage returned to his original question and Var made a frustrated noise.
“You didn’t want to talk to me!”
“Yes, for like an hour maybe?” Dorian sighed, his body finally relaxing a little, his shoulders dropping from the tense angle slowly. “I just wanted to make a point you don’t need to protect me.”
“You would be dead if I hadn’t!” Var barked.
“Maybe,” the Tevinter mumbled. “But you risked your life for mine. And that’s not something I’m comfortable with.”
“Well, I’m sorry, next time I’ll let you bleed on the ground,” the Inquisitor spitted out and turned around to leave. He had enough of this, he was tired and insecure, and he pinned after the man and it was bad. Not just for him, but for the whole Inquisition. He couldn’t afford being so distracted and neither could Dorian.
He took a deep breath and turned back, wanting to say something more, but suddenly he couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe – all he could was to hold on, clutching arms of the man who was kissing him deeply and everything disappeared.
***
There was a rumour flying around the Skyhold that the Inquisitor was sleeping with the Tevinter mage. Var grumbled something incoherent about it, tossed around in the bed and snuggled back into Dorian’s warmth.
Who cared. He was happy.