Chapter Text
He had been coddled for three straight days. Not allowed to walk for more than a few minutes, have visitors, or even feed himself! Around the sixth bowl of stew Mother Giselle spooned for him, he had refused to eat another bite until she let him hold the damn spoon himself.
In the middle of the night, he gave the Revered Mother the slip, carefully rearranging the pillows so, at a glance, she wouldn’t notice. Each step sent waves of pain through his legs, but he was relieved to have such a familiar ache course through his body.
He hadn’t planned on going to visit anyone. In actuality, he was worried that they would pity him or send him back to be imprisoned by his cot. No, he just wanted to walk around without having anyone to bother him about his health.
Trailing along the edge of the camp, he was taken by surprise to see a small lad no older than twenty sitting on a log staring at him. It was hard to focus on the boy at all, despite such a large and obvious hat.
“You’re different than the rest of them.”
Alarion chuckled, drawing closer. “Most of them are shem. I’m elvhen.”
“No,” the boy shook his head. Though the elf still couldn’t see his face, the hat made it easy to tell. “You’re different on the inside. I can’t hear your hurts the same way as I hear theirs. It’s harder.”
Intrigued and confused, Alarion took another step and was glad to see that he didn’t run off. What was he talking about? “Is that a good thing?”
“I don’t know.” The boy then lifted his head, staring at Alarion with wide eyes. His face seemed almost sunken, especially with such big eyes.
“I-I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?” He only cocked his head in response, staring at him in what Alarion assumed was curiosity. “Yes. Yes I have! You’re the one that warned us about Corypheus!” After receiving a nod, Alarion shook his head with a small chuckle. “Forgive me. I must be tired if I had forgotten someone that helped us so much.”
“I helped?”
The almost giddy way he said that made Alarion smile all the more. “Immensely.”
The boy nodded again. “Good.”
“I never caught your name?”
“Cole. I am Cole.”
“It’s a pleasure, Cole. My name is Alarion.”
He nodded again before casting his gaze towards the camp. “They hurt for you.”
“They what?”
“Their guilt and worry tangle into a knot in their stomachs. Guilty at leaving him to die. Worry about him not surviving. We should have done more to help him.”
“They all feel that way?” Alarion felt a pang of some negative emotion he didn’t have the time to name.
“Yes. Some more than others.” Suddenly, his voice sounded almost far away. “Frigging frig! Ass! Shite! He’s different, and I left him!”
“They told you this?”
“No,” he shook his head. “I hear the hurts. The hurts deep down inside them that pool together. But the hurt for you is felt by so many. They know you’re okay, but they don’t believe it. It’s hard.”
Alarion stared at him, blinking slowly. “You can hear their thoughts?”
“Yes. Their hurts and ways to heal the hurts. It calls to me.” His voice became distant again. “It was my order to leave the Herald. Just another wrong choice in my many. I had to physically push the Tevinter to leave. Did I do the right thing?”
“Dorian?” Alarion couldn’t help but freeze at that.
“‘Kaffas. I never should have left. He was alive the whole time! I wish I had stayed. Maybe I could have protected him.’ His hurt is loud.”
“Can you help him?” His voice squeaked, but he couldn’t find himself to care. Not when he knew Dorian was hurting so.
“Maybe.” Cole said with a thoughtful gaze. “But not as much as you could.”
Alarion blinked and the boy appeared less than a foot away from him. He jumped, but found that he wasn’t scared enough to run. “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with, future or present. Those words lifted his spirit and gave him hope he didn’t know he could feel. Acceptance. He’s coming this way. Be honest. He’ll know if you’re lying.” The lad raised a hand, and gave a wave in front of his face. “Forget.”
Thoughts slowed down to a fuzzy standstill. When he finally managed to regain coherent thought, he found himself staring at a stump surrounded by snow and trees. What was he doing? Was he really daydreaming out here when he finally had a free moment? How long had he been standing there?
“I thought I saw someone.” Alarion jumped at the unexpected voice. He spun around just in time to see Dorian smirk as he leaned up against a tree trunk. “It’s a good thing I’m so rarely mistaken.”
“Dorian!” Alarion greeted, feeling a large smile spread across his face. He took a few steps forward, grinning wildly.
“Herald.” He said with a nod.
The grin faltered, falling from his face completely. “Herald? You haven’t called me that since Redcliffe. It was nice, hearing my own name for once.” He chuckled. “I had started to forget it.”
Dorian didn’t respond at first, he just titled his head and stared at him. “How’s your health?”
After a dramatic sigh, Alarion shook his head. “It’s my mind I’m more worried about. Ever been cooped up with only Mother Giselle for company? It’s enough to turn anyone into a drooling chanting mess.”
Dorian smiled at that. “Ran off, did you?”
“At the first chance I got. I wanted to walk around a bit.” Alarion crossed his arms, smiling widely again. “What about you? Couldn’t sleep?”
“Hard to. I have to share a tent with that hairy lummox. I’ll have you know he snores.”
“Creators, I bet he’s loud.”
“If only you knew, Alarion.”
“That’s better. For whatever reason, I feel like friends should use each other’s names.”
Even in the pale moonlight, Alarion could see the mage tense up. “Friends?”
“Is that wrong?” Alarion felt the blood draining from his face.
“No,” Dorian answered slowly, turning his head to stare at him in a different angle.
“I didn’t do anything to offend you, did I, Dorian?”
“Maker, no, Alarion.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “After Haven, I just assumed – you still want to be my friend after I–”
“After you what, Dorian?” He folded his arms, face dipping into a serious expression, almost a glare. “After you risked your life to fight alongside me? After you were separated from me and made the right decision to leave? After you’ve done nothing but support and help me?”
Dorian didn’t answer right away. He only scowled. “You can’t just dismiss this.”
“I’m serious.” He let out a puff of air. “If you had stayed, you would’ve died. I…” Suddenly, his throat was too tight and he couldn’t speak. Not being able to see Dorian? No more witty sarcasm that never failed to lighten up his day? No. No, Alarion was so glad he was alive.
“Or, maybe, I would have been able to help.” Dorian snapped back.
“And, what? We’d be stranded in Haven together?” Alarion, regardless of the remaining frustration and horror over the idea that Dorian could’ve died, gave a small smile. “Just like old times?”
For a moment, Dorian stared before he smiled too, despite himself. “I’m not certain if a visit to the future would be considered as ‘old times’, but sure. I would have preferred that.”
Alarion began to chuckle, taking a few steps forward without thought. “Honestly? As long as you would have made it out okay, there’s no one else I would have rather had at my side. I’m glad you made it out alright, Dorian.”
His feet stopped. With a pounding ringing in his ears, Alarion could see just how close they were now. If he just reached out, he’d be able to grab ahold of his shirt, and pull him forward into a kiss. Unable to stop himself, his eyes darted down, staring at said lips before forcing his gaze back to Dorian’s eyes.
“I’m glad you made it out too.” Dorian whispered. His voice and expression were that rare sort of unguarded and tender.
Alarion felt a shiver go through his body. He wanted to close the small gap between them so badly!
“Are you cold?” The moment passed, and Dorian’s mask was right in place again. Still, his eyes and voice betrayed concern.
“A bit.” Though it wasn’t why he shook.
A smirk flittered across his face. “What to do? Send the great Heard of Andraste back to such an annoying woman, or give him shelter around our fire? What to do?”
Alarion grinned, before giving a small bow. “Lead the way, Lord Pavus.”
o.O.o
Dim light casted only by boarded up windows and various candles greeted them. Spilled beer and vomit still lingered in the air. And yet, not a noise was heard.
“Uh-oh. Nobody’s here. This doesn’t bode well.”
Alarion was about to step forward and place a hand on his shoulder to reassure him that he wasn’t alone just as a figure came down the stairs. His skin was dark, but his hair was darker. Green robes and bore what looked to be a chantry eye.
“Dorian.” His voice croaked, accent apparent.
Dorian turned from where he was looking. Alarion couldn’t see his face, but could hear the repressed anger coating his voice. “Father.”
After a quick glance back (so fast that Alarion didn’t have enough time to read it), Dorian faced the man again. “So, the whole story about the ‘family retainer’ was just… what? A smoke screen?”
“Then you were told.” He said, approaching them. Alarion crushed the urge to draw his bow. “I apologize for the deception, Inquisitor. I never intended for you to be involved.”
Wait, what? This man tried to trick Dorian and all he was apologizing for was getting Alarion involved? He bit his lip to avoid screaming at him. And when Dorian glanced to him, face a terrible mix of shock and fury, Alarion tried to ignore how badly he wanted to punch the man.
“Of course not.” Dorian snarled, glaring daggers at his father. “Magister Pavus couldn’t come to Skyhold and be seen with the dread Inquisitor. What would people think? What is ‘this’ exactly, Father? Ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion?”
It would have been amusing that, from the whole list, Dorian found a reunion to be the most outlandish idea if it wasn’t so Creators-be-damned tragic and heart retching.
“This is how it has always been.”
Was… was he still talking to Alarion and not his own son? Not only that, was he trying to play the practical and good father? Trying to get him to ally against Dorian? It was about time Alarion made his support perfectly clear. “Considering you lied to get him here, Dorian has every right to be furious.”
“You don’t know the half of it!” Dorian said, looking at him with large nearly wet eyes. “But maybe you should.”
“Dorian, there’s no need to–”
“I prefer the company of men.” Dorian snarled, eyes on him but body facing his father. “My father disapproves.”
Wait?
Wait. Was that a big deal amongst shemlen? “I’ll need you to explain that.”
“Did I stutter? Men, and the company thereof as in sex. Surely you’ve heard of it.”
Alarion didn’t take the way he bit his head off personally. If anything, it made him want to hug him even more. “I’ve more than heard of it, actually.”
“No! The Herald of Andraste? I’m shocked and scandalized.”
Alarion couldn’t help but smile. “Such sarcasm.”
“You’re not exactly subtle, oh Lord Inquisitor.”
A sharp soft inhale drew his attention back to Magister Pavus. “I should have known that’s what this was about.”
“No.” Dorian took a sidestep, almost blocking the small elf from view. “You don’t get to make those assumptions. You know nothing about the Inquisitor!”
“This is not what I wanted.”
“I’m never what you wanted, Father!” Dorian spat. “Or had you forgotten?”
Touched on how quickly Dorian defended him, Alarion tried to explain his actions earlier. “I wasn’t trying to sound judgmental, Dorian.” He said softly. “I just don’t understand. Is that a big concern to shems or just in Tevinter?”
Dorian took a deep breathe. “Tevinter. And only if you’re trying to live up to an impossible standard. Every Tevinter family is intermarrying to distill the perfect mage, perfect body, perfect mind. The perfect leader. It means that every perceived flaw – every aberration – is deviant and shameful.” Slowly, he turned his attention back to his father, spitting, “It must be hidden!”
His father held his gaze for only a moment before bowing his head.
Quietly, in hopes that the magister wouldn’t hear and misunderstand where his support laid, Alarion whispered, “Your father might be here to reach out. You could give him a chance.”
“Let’s just go!”
“Dorian, please. If you’ll only listen to me.” He begged.
“Why?” Dorian demanded, taking a few steps forward. His hand that usually stayed near his chin to look like he was in deep thought stared to swing down at some of his words. “So you can spout more convenient lies?
“He taught me to hate blood magic.” Who was he talking to? His father or Alarion? The elf wondered if even Dorian knew at this point. “‘The resort of the weak mind.’ Those are his words. But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life?” During his pacing, he ended up so that Alarion could see the side of his face. His face was rawer than he had ever seen before. “You tried to change me!”
When his voice broke, Alarion felt such a strong urge of protection that he took a few steps towards him, but then thought better about it.
“I only wanted what was best for you!”
“You wanted the best for you!” His tone was furious again, but it broke once more, falling into misery. “For your fucking legacy! Anything for that!”
This time, Alarion couldn’t hold back. He started forward just as Dorian strolled off to one of the tables. He put his hands down on it, staring intently at the wood. Alarion let him have a moment to collect himself before gently saying, “Don’t leave it like this, Dorian. You’ll never forgive yourself.”
Dorian gazed at him for a moment. The elf hoped he could see how honest he was being. Not for Alarion, not for that fucking shit excuse of a father, but for Dorian. Dorian wouldn’t forgive himself. And that, Alarion would not have.
Finally, he bowed his head a little before spinning back around. He demanded, “Tell me why you came.”
“If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition…”
“You didn’t!” Dorian sounded absolutely revolted by the idea. “I joined the Inquisition because it was the right thing to do. Once I had a father who would have known that.”
Unable to take it anymore, Dorian turned and headed towards the door. Just before he could reach it, he froze in place. “Once I had a son who trusted me. A trust I betrayed. I only wanted to talk to him. To hear his voice again. To ask him to forgive me.”
Dorian’s face looked up in surprise. His eyes locked with Alarion’s, who gave him a small smile. Nodding back, Dorian approached his father. Noticing his pretense was no longer needed, Alarion withdrew to the shadows near the door. He wanted to give Dorian space, but he didn’t trust a man that hurt Dorian so.
The two men began to talk in quiet Tevene. Alarion listened carefully in case there was any sign that he was needed for any reason.
After less than ten minutes of talking, Dorian nodded at him, turned, and walked out with the elf close behind him. Not likely in a talkative mood, Alarion soundlessly grabbed their two horses and brought it back for the mage. Together, they rode off, heading towards Skyhold.
It was a silent journey with only a few exceptions. Once, Dorian spotted a scout and angrily told him to leave his sight. Alarion didn’t comment. Instead, he approached the scout and told him that unless it was an emergency, he and his company were not to be disturbed, regardless of good intentions.
The next time someone spoke was when they finally stopped for camp that night. Without needing to be asked, Alarion picked a site in the trees instead of staying at a nearby camp. He couldn’t tell if Dorian appreciated it, or even noticed since the elf was doing his best to avoid any type of contact until Dorian made it clear he wanted some.
While Alarion set up the tents, Dorian got a fire going with an easy burst of magic. When the elf finished only a few minutes after, he spotted the mage staring intently at the flames. A book lay across his lap, but his eyes stayed on the dancing embers.
“I’m going to go get us some rabbits.”
He jerked his head up to show he heard, but otherwise didn’t move.
Not long after, Alarion slipped behind a tree, hiding in the shadows. After searching the area three times over, he was certain that he was alone. Letting out a puff or relief, he leaned against the tree and began to weep. Quiet tears shook his body as he thought of the man’s words. You tried to change me! …For your fucking legacy! Anything for that.
How could he even begin to imagine how hard that would was? To grow up with people telling you that something so fundamentally identifying about yourself was wrong? To have to hide it at every moment because it was ‘deviant and shameful’? How must it have felt to learn that your father, someone who is supposed to protect and love you, had decided to alter your mind with forbidden magic?
That bastard…
And Dorian! How amazing of Dorian to walk away from everything! To tell himself that hiding in the shadows was no way to be. To decide that, despite being told his whole life to bury it in himself, he wouldn’t get married. And even when the threat of a blood ritual loomed over him, he chose to leave everything he knew to live his own life and not follow their plan.
When his breathing finally calmed, he shook his body like a wet dog would. Knowing full and well that Dorian would notice the tear marks, Alarion sank into the snow before sticking his face into it. The flakes bit his cheeks, collecting with icy spikes against his lips. When he finally removed his face, the wind stung. Quickly, he wiped most of the snow off, but kept enough so that the mage would see and not think that ‘the great Herald of Andraste’ had been bawling.
Feeling loads better, the elf nodded to himself as he reached into his pack. Just earlier, he had managed to snag three rabbits, and convinced a mage to cast a freezing spell on them to preserve them. It meant he had to carry three very cold hunks of meat around, but he knew it had been worth it in the end.
Alarion quickly skinned them before returning to the camp. Dorian seemed as though he hadn’t moved at all, but the pot dangling over the fire with nearly boiling water said otherwise. The elf nodded as thanks, but didn’t look to see if he even noticed. One by one, he placed sliced rabbit into the water before adding various spices he had brought with him.
The food took the better part of twenty minutes to finish. Once it was, he poured half into his bowl, and the rest into Dorian’s. Without keeping eye contact, he handed it over. Somewhere around his third bite, he heard his voice again. “I swear! You southerns wouldn’t know what flavor was if it hit you in your unwashed barbaric faces!” Alarion looked up, just in time to see Dorian’s glare directed to his soup move towards his face. “Are all Dalish so terrible at cooking like yourself?” he demanded.
Alarion gave a small smile, not caring the slightest that Dorian was directing his anger at him. “No, just me. My mae was a great cook. I wish I had paid more attention when she had tried to teach me. I should have known that one day I’d be cooking for someone so sophisticated.”
For a moment, he froze up. Finally, his face fell away into something akin to sadness. “Alarion, I–”
“And by sophisticated,” Alarion continued, quickly overwriting him. “I mean completely right! If I had lived so posh, I doubt I’d be able to mingle with such uncultured swine.” He gave a dramatic sigh. “The sacrifices you endure for Thedas, Pavus.”
Blinking a few times, Dorian’s face eventually grew into a fond smile. The sight sent Alarion’s heart racing, no matter how hard he tried to quench it by reminding himself that it was far from the right time. “It’s true.”
“And don’t I know it.” Alarion gave him a cheeky smile before returning to his soup, once again waiting for Dorian to break the silence. If and when he did, Alarion swore he would joke and banter just as he would have done before the events at Redcliffe Tavern. Despite how heavy the memory felt on him, Alarion wanted Dorian to know that he would never treat him differently regardless of witnessing such a private moment.
Long after the stew was finished and Alarion lay on the ground staring up at the stars did Dorian speak again. “May I ask you something, Alarion?”
“Well, you just did.” He responded, sitting up to face the man. Despite the dwindling size of the flames, Dorian hadn’t moved an inch. His book still remained untouched on his lap. “And that question was without permission. I wonder what you’ll get away with now that I am letting you ask one.”
Thank the Creators Dorian smiled at his lame joke. “I was wondering… how did the Dalish treat your...” he seemed unable to finish.
“My liking of men?” Alarion supplied, fully sitting up now.
“That, yes.”
“Well, it could be different amongst the Dalish, depending on the clan.” Alarion replied, after taking a moment to think about it. “My clan personally didn’t care. There was one woman we had that liked both girls and boys, and two other men besides me that cared for men. When it came out that I preferred men, the only real backlash was from my mother. Not that she was surprised or angry, just sad. She knew that there were very few amongst our clan that preferred the same and she worried that I would fall for someone from a different clan and leave forever.”
“Truly? They didn’t care?”
Nodding, Alarion took another moment so he could carefully think of how to say this. “Who people are and who they like is up to the single person, and no one else. As long as one is a good person, no one has any right to try and change anything about them. People are people regardless of any preference whatsoever. Anyone who tries to say otherwise,” he made a face. “Fuck them.”
Dorian stared at him for a moment before chuckling softly. Alarion folded his arms, face becoming determined. “It’s the exact reason I chose to help the mages. No one can help who or how they were born. It’s ridiculous to try and change that. Any one person who tries and thinks lesser of a person, for something they were born with, is only proving how lesser of a person they are.
“My mae and bae always told me that Dwarf, Qunari, Human, Elf, mage, rogue, warrior, peasant – doesn’t matter. The one common thing amongst every race, gender, and class is love. And to hate someone for loving someone else because of race, gender, or class? It’s closed-minded. The one thing that ties us all together? It’s ridiculous to me that some people try to put boundaries between them.”
His monologue received a small smile. “Such idealism.”
He sighed, unfolding his arms. “I know it’s not the most common opinion, but I believe it’s the right one.” He debated about telling Dorian how angry and sad it made him that he was raised somewhere with an entirely different viewpoint. But, worried his empathy would come across as pity, he said nothing.
After a long absence of conversation, Alarion stood, and dusted the dirt off his clothes. “You can go to bed. I’ll take first watch.”
“Might as well let me. I doubt I’ll sleep much tonight. Shame I don’t have something to drink to past the time, though.”
“Oh!” Alarion smacked his forehead. “Creators, I’m a forgetful person.”
Before Dorian could question, Alarion went into his tent and rummaged through his bags. Fingers clasping the cold round glass, he emerged from his tent to find Dorian staring at him in puzzled amusement. “Normally I’m against drinking while in a bad mood, but even I know when a day is bad enough that it deserves a drink.” He offered the bottle to Dorian, who took it with a frozen face of neutrality. “It’s not brandy, but wine is better than nothing, right?”
“Better than water, at least.” For only a moment, Dorian titled his head and stared at him with such raw fondness that Alarion felt his breathe get hitched in his throat.
Creators! Alarion wanted to leap forward and press their bodies together. He wanted to press their lips so hard against one another that they bruised. He wanted to run his fingers through that hair. He wanted to kiss that man until they were both breathless and thoughtless.
But he couldn’t.
“Thank you, Alarion.” Dorian whispered. He gave a nod, and the moment pasted. His mask was back over his face as he stood. “Wake me when you need to get some rest.”
Alarion could only nod, worried that his voice would whimper from want.
As he settled down with his bow at the ready, Alarion made himself shake his head. Dorian was having a bad day. Dorian was having a really bad day. As far as lists went for ‘Not the Right Time’, today was at the top.
“Dread Wolf take you, Alarion.” He murmured angrily to himself. “Dirthara-ma.”
o.O.o
When he finally found Dorian, he was not in his favorite chair or browsing through the stacks of books; he was leaning against the windowsill. He had glanced Alarion’s way when he approached, but had turned back to the window. Was that a dismal? Should he leave?
“He says we’re alike. Too much pride.” Dorian started softly. “Once I would have been overjoyed to hear him say that. Now I’m not certain. I don’t know if I can forgive him.”
“He tried to change you?” Alarion heard himself blurt out.
Dorian took a small inhale. “Out of desperation. I wouldn’t put on a show, marry the girl. Keep everything unsavory private and locked away.” He turned back to the window. “Selfish, I suppose. Not to want to spend my entire life screaming on the inside. He was going to do a blood ritual! Alter my mind. Make me… acceptable. I found out. I left.”
“Can blood magic actually do that?” The idea was horrifying.
“Maybe.” He glanced back at Alarion, voice almost sounding scared. “It could have also left me a drooling vegetable.” He turned away again. “It crushed me to think he found that absurd risk preferable to scandal. Part of me has always hoped he didn’t really want to go through with it. If he had, I can’t even imagine the person I would be now.” He finally turned back to Alarion. His frown and almost glare sent a pang of pain through Alarion. He felt such a strong urge to hurt anyone who hurt him so much. “I wouldn’t like that Dorian.”
“Are you alright?” His face felt almost heavy with his amount of frowning he was doing.
“No. Not really.” He took a small breathe before turning away from the windowsill. “Thank you for bringing me out there. It wasn’t what I expected, but… it’s something. Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display.”
Alarion smiled. Good, he finally felt reassured knowing how to answer now. “I don’t think less of you. More, if possible.”
“The things you say.” He whispered, mouth tugging up at the end.
“I mean it.” Alarion answered with no hesitation.
“My father never understood.” He took a step back. “Living a lie… it festers inside of you, like poison.” His face suddenly became passionate and strong. “You have to fight for what’s inside your heart.”
Alarion gulped, knowing that if he didn’t stop himself, he’d walk that little space in-between and kiss him. “You are very brave. It’s not easy to abandon tradition and walk your own path.”
Dorian blinked at him a few times, a smile almost on his lips. “At any rate, time to drink myself in a stupor. It’s been that sort of day. Join me sometime, if you’ve a mind.”
And as a smile finally graced his lips as he walked off to the tavern, Alarion found himself grinning as well. He had made the right choice. It didn’t matter how badly he had wanted to kiss him. This was about Dorian, not him. And Dorian was emotionally raw at the moment. It would be borderline-taking-advantage of him to kiss him right now.
With a sigh loud enough to be heard by Solas below, he forced himself to move to talk to Fiona before he knew he was needed in the War Room. His work never seemed to end.