Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There was one brief little moment of respite, after they'd stormed gasping back through a series of eluvians, in a dusty storage room off the Winter Palace. Just the two of them sitting on the floor in the dark.

"I can hardly believe it's gone," Lavellan was saying, gazing down at the bandaged stump that was his left arm. "No more pulsing. No more pain. It's... actually... not going to kill me." He fixed Dorian with a stunned smile. "Can you believe that?"

"And here I was actually deigning to get upset," Dorian said. "I should have known better. No matter what happens, you always manage to miraculously avert death at the last moment. It's almost predictable at this point."

"I can't really argue with that... I'm so sorry I upset you."

"Given the circumstances, I suppose I'll allow it. But we'll have to agree never to speak of that unseemly display of emotions again."

Lavellan chuckled. "I wouldn't dream of it." He scooted in closer, fixing his eyes on Dorian's, placing his one remaining hand on Dorian's knee. "I love you, Dorian. I don't want that to be something I just trot out when our lives are in terrible danger. I love you right now, too, just as much."

There was a brief, almost undetectable flap of emotion through Dorian's face, although his voice betrayed nothing at all: "And I'm pleased you're still here. Honestly, what have I said about running ahead like that? If anything had happened to you in there I would never have forgiven you."

"Tch. I'd say 'blame the Viddasala,' but I'm pretty sure she already got what was coming to her."

Dorian pressed a kiss against Lavellan's forehead, holding it there for a long moment, then said, "Fair point. Lucky for me that you lived through all that, or it would've been my duty to vengefully murder Solas. And given his newfound talents, that might have been..." Dorian paused thoughtfully. "Though, I have always thought I would make a marvellous statue."

"You'd be the pride of any garden, I'm certain."

"Garden? Please. I'm dramatically staged in a fountain or I'm nowhere at all."

"Oh, all right. I'll make sure of that, just for you."

Dorian smiled at Lavellan, stroking his left bicep, then looking down to his elbow a little more solemnly. "Are you in pain?"

"After the anchor...? It's nothing."

"Are you..." Dorian hesitated.

Lavellan seemed to understand. He said, "Honestly, I don't think it's even sunk in yet that I've lost it. Right now I'm just happy to be alive. I'll worry about how I'm going to handle all this later."

"I'm sure you'll handle it like you handle everything, Amatus. Brilliantly. Miraculously. And probably involving some manner of dark cave."

"Of course. You can't solve anything without a dark cave."

"Well, clearly you can't."

They bumped their foreheads against each other, in a clumsy gesture of affection. "Will you..." Lavellan hesitated, weighing guilt against self-interest for a moment, before deciding: After the day I've had? Fuck it. "Will you stay a little bit longer? Please. Just an extra day or two, before you go..."

"Of course," Dorian said. "With all that's just happened, I'm sure I can find some excuse. A few days is nothing, in the grand scheme. Plus, there's that wyvern-down bed you've been promising me..."

"We'll get it," Lavellan said. "Or, we'd bloody well better. I gave the Inquisition an arm. The least they can do is fix us up with a wyvern-down bed."

"You have a point there... although, I do believe the expression is, 'it costs an arm and a leg.'"

Lavellan glanced down at his arm, then back up at Dorian. "Well, it's your turn, then."

"Ha! Ridiculous. You can't just chop up perfection."

Lavellan laughed with disbelief. But before he could retort, they were interrupted -- Lavellan was needed to finally address the Council, which Josephine had been single-handedly holding off for hours. At this, he sighed with pre-emptive exasperation. One final time...

Perhaps unnecessarily, Dorian helped Lavellan get to his feet. "You let them have it, Amatus. March in there and make them feel as pointless and foolish as they are."

"I will do my best," Lavellan said. "And you...?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll just be off ensuring you get your well-deserved reward."

"Which is what, exactly?"

"Just trust me," Dorian said with a grin.

There were so many whirling hours of excruciating business discussions that followed this promise, Lavellan didn't have much chance to wonder what Dorian meant by 'reward' until, at last, very late in the evening, they were able to retire to bed.

Up in the bedchamber of an outrageously spacious guest suite, Dorian swept apart his arms in front of the bed, as if unveiling it: a silk and gold explosion of egotistical architecture. "Just guess what's in here."

"Is it... wyvern down?"

"So they claim!" Dorian said. "The palace steward definitely wants to murder me, but other than that it was surprisingly little trouble... I was waiting for you before I dared to touch it. Shall we?"

"Is this going to change our lives irreversibly? Because I'm not sure I can handle any more of that today."

"Undoubtedly, yes. But in a good way, for once. Are you ready?"

They counted each other down, then delightedly flopped back and sank into the mattress. It was both decadently soft and reassuringly firm, with some otherworldly texture -- there almost seemed to be a quiet warmth radiating out from it.

"This is just wrong," Lavellan said. "This is too comfortable. How am I supposed to go back to sleeping in a bedroll on the ground?"

"Why would you ever do that?"

"Well, I've just disbanded my organization, for one thing..."

"You're still the 'Herald of Andraste,'" Dorian said, which made Lavellan roll his eyes and groan. "Power and influence like yours don't just melt away, my dear."

"Could they, please? That would be nice..."

"So you can go back to sleeping in the woods like a barbarian? My word, I'll never understand you."

"Shut up," Lavellan said. His eyes had drifted down to the stump of his left arm, wound up in a clean new bandage. "At any rate, I'm not exactly the capable person I used to be, here, am I?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dorian asked, turning his head Lavellan's way -- then registering the direction of his gaze. "Ah... Amatus, I've seen you fly over enough insurmountable obstacles that I sincerely doubt you'll let this one stand in your way. Trust me. Trust yourself, at that."

"Oh, all right," Lavellan said. "Then I'm sure I'll be back to holding two daggers in no time."

"Don't be a pill," Dorian said gently. "Come here."

They cuddled up under the blankets, Lavellan tucking his head onto Dorian's chest. For a time, they were just quiet, and Lavellan felt sleepiness starting to drift in. In all honesty, he thought -- for all the general irritation of being in Orlais -- this was indeed a damned comfortable bed.

Dorian took a breath in. "Do you think..." He faltered. "Should I..."

"What?"

Dorian fiddled with his mustache for a moment, seeking the words. "This business with the Magisterium... It's a real chance to do something for Tevinter. That's... there's quite a lot at stake here for me. But... I don't know, Amatus. With all this, with your... injury, I'm not sure I--"

"Dorian. No. Don't ask me this."

"Why not?"

Lavellan could already feel himself welling up a bit. He said, "Because I know how important this is for you. I know I can't rightly ask you to stay here on my behalf. But if you ask for my opinion, you know what I'll say, so please, don't make me say it."

Dorian pulled him right in for a hug. For a minute they just lay there, silent and teary-eyed, until finally Dorian let out a weak chuckle and said, "My, aren't we a pathetic scene right now?"

"It's your fault," Lavellan said. "You made me like you."

"Can't be helped -- everyone winds up liking me. I'm irresistibly charming like that."

"Promise me I won't lose you," Lavellan said. "Promise that we won't drift apart just because we're separated by the Waking bloody Sea..."

"Don't forget Nevarra. Stuck in the middle there like a grim Cassandra trying to keep us chaste."

"I mean it. I need you to promise you won't run off with some handsome Tevinter man with two functioning arms."

"That is very unlikely, my dear. I'm afraid you've set the bar awfully high. He'd have to have performed a minimum of three impossible miracles to even qualify. Do you know, most people can't seem to muster a single one? It's rather pathetic."

"Well, then. I'm lucky you have such questionable requirements." Lavellan gazed up at Dorian for a few moments. "You know, I am going to be visiting you. You can't stop me from doing that."

"I wouldn't dream of stopping you, Amatus. Just as soon as I figure out a safe way to get you in to see me. All right? I won't have you taking any reckless chances."

"Excuse me? 'No reckless chances'? Hello, I'm ex-Inquisitor Lavellan, have we met?"

"I seem to vaguely recall you from somewhere," Dorian said. "But you know what, ex-Inquisitor? My country, my rules."

"Hmph," Lavellan said. "...Say 'ex-Inquisitor' again."

Dorian laughed. "You've been waiting a long time for this, haven't you, ex-Inquisitor?"

"That's putting it mildly... Freedom, what a concept. Maybe one of these days I'll be able to take a simple piss without worrying that Leliana is watching me do it."

"I wouldn't count on that," Dorian said. "She'll be Divine soon enough. That puts her a step away from the Maker. And the Maker watches everyone piss. That is a Chantry fact."

"Is that in the Chant of Light, then?"

"Oh, definitely. There's an entire verse. The Canticle of Bodily Functions, I believe it's called..."

Lavellan snorted. "You are horrendous." He cuddled in a bit closer, pulling his one remaining arm around Dorian, as best he could. "I hate that you're leaving."

"Amatus, I'm--"

"I know," he said. "I understand. I mean it, Dorian -- I understand, and I'm proud of you, honestly. I'm incredibly proud of you and I fucking hate it."

Dorian cracked a smile. "I know the feeling... But let's not dwell on that now. We have a few days. Forget the future, for once in our lives. We can worry about all that once we've made a good effort at wearing out this intolerably fancy bed."

"You always have the best ideas," Lavellan said.

"I know," Dorian said, as he lifted Lavellan's chin, bringing their mouths close. "I'm brilliant that way."

There was an unbearable sea of emotion involved in kissing Dorian now. The relief of being able to do this, in relative safety and preposterous comfort, was by itself overwhelming. But stuck in there was a sharp sense of despair -- that this was finite. That this person could just saunter into Lavellan's life, casually bat aside his defenses, sink charming hooks into his heart and then leave, for reasons that were more important than their own selfish interests.

This sense of loss was even tangible: as much as Lavellan had become familiar with the feeling of Dorian in his arms, one hand cupping Dorian's jaw or winding its fingers into his hair, the other resting on Dorian's waist, or perhaps blithely grabbing his ass, if things were going that way... now, of course, that feeling was permanently altered: one arm maimed and throbbing and useless, the other nervously, uncertainly seeking the right spot all by itself, settling on a half-hold that was wholly inadequate.

Dorian paused, pulling back. "Maker, are you crying? What's the matter?"

"I -- can't -- hold you," Lavellan gasped.

This didn't seem to clear much up; Dorian's eyebrows just lifted upwards. "What?"

"How am I supposed to hold you," Lavellan said, "with one stupid arm?"

"Oh," Dorian said. He searched for some calming words -- as usual, it seemed Lavellan had been slowly amassing his feelings about the day's many events so that he could release them all together in one efficient, irrational explosion. "Come now, you're just fine. What's wrong with this?" He patted Lavellan's right arm, which was clinging tightly to his waist. "This is holding me, isn't it?"

"It's just -- it's not the same, it doesn't feel right..."

"I'm not about to float off to the ceiling," Dorian said. "You don't need an iron grip."

Despite feeling on the brink of crumbling, Lavellan nearly laughed. "That's not... Shut up."

"Considering just how often you say that to me, I'd think you'd've realized by now that it's a futile request."

"I'm sorry. I'm just a disaster. Everything's a disaster."

"You are not a disaster," Dorian said. "You're a miracle. I keep telling you. Hang the Inquisition and its problems. Hang Solas and his nefarious plans. In this very moment, you and I are alive and together and experiencing a wyvern-down bed simply because you were here to make things go the right way."

"Do you really think that today went 'right'?"

"Considering the alternatives, I'd say it was pretty much as right as it could've been." Dorian paused for a long moment. Lavellan could read some kind of internal struggle playing itself out on Dorian's face. Then, finally, he added: "And, well, you have to be right in general, don't you -- because there's not much for you on the left side, is there..."

It took Lavellan a moment. "Oh -- honestly!" he said, giving Dorian a retributive smack to the chest.

Dorian was fully shaking with impudent laughter. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry..."

"No you aren't."

"Yes, I am! I swear. I solemnly promise." Dorian pulled Lavellan into his arms again -- Lavellan gave him another half-hearted swat, but otherwise didn't resist. "I was simply making light of your unfortunate circumstances in an attempt to cheer you up. Did it not work?"

"No," Lavellan said. "Well... maybe, a bit. I don't know. Shut up."

"Like I said," Dorian said, nuzzling at Lavellan's cheek, "a futile request."

"You're intolerable," Lavellan muttered, and he found Dorian's mouth with his again.

Dorian paused to accept the kiss, then said, "Don't forget 'handsome.' That's why you keep me around, isn't it?"

"Sure. That's one reason. You're also willing to follow me toward certain death through mysterious eluvians -- that's not nothing."

"Handsome and foolish, then."

Lavellan laughed. "Yes. That's exactly how I'd describe you. Handsome, foolish and intolerable."

"What was that? I stopped listening after the first one."

"Idiot," Lavellan said, and he pulled Dorian back in for another kiss. In this very moment, he thought, this was still possible. He had Dorian right now. That would have to be enough.

Dorian pressed the full weight of his body against Lavellan's, wrapping a hand around the back of his thigh, pulling Lavellan's leg up over his own. Then he fixed Lavellan with a serious look and said, "Let's please dispense with the argument today. I would like to take care of you this time."

"No," Lavellan said automatically, though there was no conviction behind it. He felt shattered and exhausted. He didn't think he could have taken charge of sex if he tried. For once in his needlessly combative life, the idea of Dorian doing everything while he lay around like a useless log actually sounded pretty much ideal.

Dorian huffed. "You are injured. You have been through enough today. Please let me do this for you."

"Special injury rules?" Lavellan said. "No winner tonight?"

"All right. No winner, I promise... Or, actually, let's put it this way: tonight, we're both winners already."

"Because we're both alive, improbably? I suppose I can accept that."

"Good." Dorian brought his face in close again, nudging Lavellan's nose with his own. "Well, darling? May I officially take the lead in fucking you?"

"Oh, all right," Lavellan said, finding a sleepy grin. "Just this once."

"Good morning!" came Dorian's voice, invading Lavellan's sleep like a sharp poke in the brain. "Amatus, can you hear this?"

Lavellan rolled over, grinding his palm into one eye and attempting to forcibly push the sleep from it, trying and failing to disentangle himself from the sheets. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows, throwing panes of brightness on every absurd Orlesian accoutrement in the room. His absurd Tevinter accoutrement, however, was distinctly absent from the bed.

"I know you must be incredibly comfortable," Dorian's voice said, "but it's time to wake up."

Lavellan attempted to prop himself up with his left arm, then yelped in pain at the accidental pressure on his raw stump of an elbow. Right. Don't do that. Instead, he rolled himself onto his stomach, then gazed at his pillow. He could have sworn the sound had come from there. Had Dorian taken to enchanting the bedding these days? Or was this all a dream -- some odd trick of the Fade? Was this a demon? Which demon would take the form of a pillow?

Oh. Sloth. Definitely...

Dorian's voice said, "I'm going to take an educated guess and say that right now you must be groaning and rolling listlessly about." It was definitely coming from the pillow -- Lavellan snatched it up, then sighed with exasperation. There was his sending crystal, shoved right underneath the pillow by some calculating sleep-ruiner. "Well, stop that. You'll miss breakfast."

Lavellan threw the pillow aside, then grabbed the crystal in his fist and half-buried his face into the sheets next to it, scrunching his eyes closed again. He muttered the phrase to activate the crystal from his end, then said, "Seriously, Dorian?"

Dorian's laughter came spilling out of the crystal now, rich with satisfaction. "So it does work! I had to make sure before I left, didn't I?"

"We tested it yesterday."

"But we were in the same room then. That's hardly scientific."

"Ugh," Lavellan said. "Where are you, anyway?"

"Ah! Now, that's an excellent question. Where am I?"

"You want me to guess?"

"Only if you'd like to win."

Lavellan let out a dismissive snort. "I always win."

"That is demonstrably untrue."

"Whatever you say," Lavellan said, snuggling deeper into the sheets. In the warmth of this bed, he suddenly found his brain easily spilling out a memory from way back in the Hinterlands, back in the very early days of his relationship with Dorian, when they had little clue of where the Inquisition -- or either one of them -- was headed. When supplies had been sparser and accommodations less forgiving: not so much the sturdy cots and organized camps of the recent Inquisition, but more threadbare tents pitched in wooded clearings with bedrolls on the hard ground. Dorian had been complaining about these conditions, and they had both been aching for more privacy besides; it was that eager time in their relationship when they were so delighted with the novelty of freely touching each other that they could hardly bear to stop doing it, much to Cassandra's chagrin.

"Sneaking out of your own camp in the middle of the night," Dorian said, as they hurried through the long, dark shadows of the trees like a pair of runaway children. "You are a remarkably odd Inquisitor."

"Please don't call me that," Lavellan said. The title was fresh and new and still deeply uncomfortable to him. Like a promise he'd never agreed to, and one he sincerely doubted he'd be able to keep. He tugged on Dorian's hand, leading him onward. "And I'm doing this for you. Do you really want all our scouts to listen in on us?"

"Dear Maker, no. I'm sure they'd make detailed notes on our performance and send them straight to Leliana. Who needs that sort of pressure?"

"Exactly."

"I am rather concerned about where you might be leading us, however," Dorian said. "As much as I would give just about anything to be with you right now, I'm not sure I can be a person who has sex in a cave."

Lavellan laughed. "So, you don't like caves?"

"Please tell me we aren't actually going to have sex in a cave."

"You're awfully lucky you aren't Dalish. You never would've gotten through my teen years with that attitude."

"What, really? You're not serious..."

"I am always serious." Lavellan had stopped on the path, now, still holding Dorian's hand, scanning the hills about them, thinking back through everything they had explored in this area. Then he turned to Dorian with a smile. "No matter. I have another idea..."

They diverted their course slightly upwards, until they came upon a small, round cabin on the hillside. Lavellan had poked around this cabin earlier that week: the door was locked, but through the windows he had deduced that while it was probably still in use during hunting season, it had clearly not been visited in some time.

"So," Lavellan said. "How do you feel about breaking and entering?"

"Well, I like it more than nature, I can tell you that much."

"Good to know," Lavellan said, and before Dorian could ask any further questions he got down on one knee and casually picked the lock.

Dorian laughed. "Did you never learn about 'trespassing' among the Dalish? Well, I suppose you wouldn't have, would you -- it's not as though you have any doors out there..."

"You wanted walls, I found you some walls," Lavellan said. He stood and pushed the cabin door carefully open, taking an appraising look around, then sweeping an arm to welcome Dorian inside.

"Fair enough. How very ungrateful of me." Dorian padded carefully in after him. The cabin contained just one round, simple room. Dust had collected in every nook, and there was grass sprouting from between the floorboards, making it clear that no one had been here in a while, though on the whole it was a secure little shelter and functionally furnished: a rustic wood table and chairs, a little stove, and -- fortuitously -- a bed.

As Lavellan closed and latched the door behind them, Dorian asked, "Who do you think this place belongs to?"

"A hunter, I expect. I'm sure he won't mind if we--"

"--defile his cabin? I think he might, actually."

"Not if he never finds out," Lavellan said. He went to Dorian, sliding his arms under the folds of Dorian's robes, winding them tightly about his waist, looking up with an inviting grin.

"Good plan," Dorian said, gently taking a few of Lavellan's unruly curls and brushing them back from his forehead. "I suppose if he walks in, we can tell him we're here on important Inquisition business."

"Oh, right. The kind of important business that absolutely needs to be conducted naked."

"The best kind, clearly," Dorian said. "Some clandestine magic ritual, perhaps."

Lavellan snorted. "A magic ritual involving sex? Sure, that's believable."

"Not entirely unprecedented, actually! If you read the--"

Lavellan cut him off by jamming his mouth onto Dorian's, straining to hold himself up high enough on his toes. "No lectures on magical history before you fuck me."

"Oh, all right," Dorian said lazily, as if he could take or leave it -- as if Lavellan couldn't feel the full extent of Dorian's interest pressing against his hip. It had been a long few days stuck in close quarters with their companions, after all. "If you insist."

Lavellan had slept with human men before Dorian, back in the Free Marches: passing hunters and travellers, men driven half-mad with the loneliness and isolation of the long road through the backwoods, and thus happy enough to fuck some wild elf -- for sheer relief, or perhaps to satisfy their curiosity, or just to have an interesting story to tell when they were back in the taverns of civilization. At the time, Lavellan hadn't particularly minded playing the object of passing fascination for those men. It was his lot, he had figured. There was no one else with his inclinations among his clan, after all. Impersonal human encounters would just have to do.

Dorian was different, of course. Dorian looked him in the eyes -- and Dorian laughed. During sex they both found themselves frequently in the grips of laughter, savouring the utter ridiculousness of stripping naked in the middle of a war and cheerfully, clumsily wrestling with each other in the most inhospitable corners they could find. And they would compete, like it was a game: they'd fight to be the one on top, or the other way around -- whatever their partner was attempting that night, they would playfully argue for the position. And they would always, always fight to make the other finish first, the last one standing whispering a smug "I win" wrapped inside a hot breath on the other's ear.

In and out of bed, they could tease and prod each other all day. But after sex, there was a brief respite from this -- a sort of heady gratitude, where all they seemed to be capable of doing was lolling in each other's arms and openly admitting all the complimentary things they would never dare to say otherwise.

"Sometimes I can't believe how talented you are," Lavellan was saying, in a euphoric boneless sprawl across the anonymous hunter's tiny bed, his and Dorian's limbs tangled up out of necessity. "That rift this morning -- the way you caged those demons in lightning! It's like you're crafting miracles from thin air."

"Magic quite literally is that, yes," Dorian said. "And I am rather good at it."

"You're incredible."

"I know, but thank you. For what it's worth, I sometimes can't believe you aren't using magic yourself. I have never in my life seen someone move as quietly as you do. I mean -- if you told me you were a professional assassin, I wouldn't be surprised!"

"Really? Is it odd that I find that an incredibly sweet thing to say?"

Dorian laughed aloud. "I wouldn't say so, though I may be the wrong person to ask! But I mean it, honestly. The way you flank people undetected... you could make a fortune as an assassin, I'm sure of it. Though, I suppose it may be easier to do that out here, in the forest, than indoors..."

Lavellan smirked at him. "What are you saying? You think I can't do it indoors?"

"In the confusion of some battle? Absolutely, I've seen you. But what about in a quiet, empty room? It'd be a sight more difficult, I expect."

"Such little faith you have in me."

"What, then?" Dorian asked, a hint of their usual sparring tone creeping back into his voice. "Do you intend to prove me wrong?"

Lavellan paused, considering this -- then he sprang up from the bed, tugging on Dorian's hand until he followed along to the centre of the cabin. "Let's do an exercise. You turn around, count to five, and then try to find me."

"You're joking."

"Dead serious," Lavellan said. "If I manage to sneak up on you, then I win."

Dorian laughed with delight. "Sneak up on me in the middle of a bare little cabin? Madness! All right, you're absolutely on." He spun around on his heel.

"Close your eyes. And count slowly."

"Adding conditions, are you? Not so confident now, hm?" Dorian said. But then he did as he was told anyway, shutting his eyes, counting slowly and clearly to five -- then opening his eyes and looking about.

Nothing. No sign of Lavellan. And nothing seemed to be disturbed in the cabin, either. "Hmmm... Interesting..."

Dorian spun about in place, scanning the circumference of the cabin, keeping his distance from any furniture, for fear that Lavellan might spring out from behind something and win. But there was no sign of any motion. In fact, it rather looked like Lavellan had left the cabin entirely. Had he jumped out a window, perhaps? Was that his trick? Or had he rolled himself under the bed? Perhaps he was just going to let Dorian stand around like a fool until--

And then the full weight of a short elf hit him from behind, two arms wrapping about Dorian's shoulders and two legs clamping around his torso, causing him to squawk with surprise. "Got you," Lavellan said in his ear.

Dorian sputtered a curse in Tevene, staggering forward, as Lavellan snickered into the side of his neck. "Where in the blighted hell did you come from?"

"Perhaps it's magic?" Lavellan said, sliding off Dorian's back and landing on his feet.

"You can't use that line with a mage!" Dorian said. "I'm confounded, I hate to admit..."

"Come on, don't give up that easily. Would you like to try that again?"

Once more, Dorian wheeled about, shutting his eyes, counting loudly and clearly to five. Then he looked all around himself. This made no sense. Lavellan must be hiding behind something -- and he must have quickly, carefully jumped from said hiding spot straight to the centre of the room in a split second, while Dorian's head was turned just the right way--

"You're thinking so horizontally," came Lavellan's voice, causing Dorian to swear with surprise again. He spun in that direction -- and there was Lavellan's face, upside-down and grinning, hanging down from the ceiling, where Lavellan's knees were clamp-folded over one of the rafters.

Dorian stared up at him, agape, for a moment, then began to laugh. "Up there! Both times? How in the world did you get up there so fast?"

"Magic," Lavellan said, and he strained to sit up, just managing to grab the ceiling beam with his hands, then untucking his legs and dropping down to his feet -- Dorian half-caught him as he landed, even though this was unnecessary. "Also, uh -- I've climbed a lot of trees. It's more helpful than you'd think..."

"There, now, you see?" Dorian said, pulling Lavellan back in, so that they were nearly nose to nose. "Clearly you're very talented. You'd be a brilliant assassin, if you wanted to be."

"I know that," Lavellan said. "Also?"

"Yes?"

Lavellan leaned in close, his lips brushing up against Dorian's. As their eyes slipped shut, he whispered: "I win."

"You can't just fall asleep again." Dorian's voice cut straight through Lavellan's daydreaming, resonating out from the sending crystal and reopening Lavellan's eyes to the gaudy furnishings of their Winter Palace guest suite. "You'll be disqualified if you do that."

"Sorry," Lavellan murmured. "Give me a hint."

"A hint? How the mighty have fallen."

"You just woke me up, you ass. I'm not at my best."

"Very well: I am currently in view of your beloved nature, but still in civilized enough conditions to bear it."

Lavellan lifted his head with confusion. "How far away are you?"

"Not far."

Oh, Lavellan thought. With some difficulty, he pushed himself up with his right arm. Then he slid out of their preposterous wyvern bed, padded down the two steps from the bedchamber, through the archway into the main room of their guest suite, then out the glass doors onto the admittedly very civilized stone balcony, with its view across to the windmill-dotted villages in the hills.

Sitting there at the table -- which was decked with antique floral china, including a pot of tea and a tray of the tiniest, most laboriously constructed pastries -- Dorian was looking up at him with a smile. "Ah, good morning! That was a rather substantial hint, wasn't it? I believe that means I win."

Lavellan frowned deeply. He was the picture of dishevelment: squinting as though he'd never seen the sun before, wearing just a loose cotton shirt and smallclothes, the bandage around his left stump just starting to fray, and his thick curls clearly having been pressed out of order after a long night on a pillow. He brought up his right hand, rubbing it through his hair, making everything worse.

Dorian laughed fondly at the sight of this and Lavellan had no idea why, which made him frown harder.

"You're adorable," Dorian said. "It just tickles me that the man who saved the entire world looks like this first thing in the morning."

"We can't all be effortlessly handsome at all hours of the day," Lavellan said irritably.

"Don't get touchy. I just said you were adorable." Dorian pushed out the chair opposite himself with his foot. "Sit! I need you to try these pastries. Some of them are downright unfathomable."

"In a good way or a bad way?" Lavellan asked, taking his seat.

"I'm not sure, honestly... I was hoping you might help me decide."

"Oh. Great." Lavellan eyed the colourful selection in front of him, then looked up at Dorian again, who was smiling amiably at him. All about them was the pleasant green of the Orlesian countryside, the ornate stonework of the Winter Palace, the ridiculously fancy china set in front of them, the majestically uncomfortable wrought-iron chairs they sat in...

Here he was, sitting on an Orlesian palace balcony with an excessively handsome human man who he was completely in love with. And for a moment, he felt in him the remnants of that distant, apathetic young man who let lonely travellers fuck him in caves. Would that version of himself have even believed this could be in his future?

Of course, there was a wealth of further implausible details that the younger version of himself would never have believed. Being forced to lead the Inquisition. Physically entering the Fade. Losing half an arm to the effects of some magical artifact. And then there was the former friend and mentor who was now literally trying to destroy everything...

But of course all the trauma was worth it, he wanted to assure his younger self. Truly, gaining Dorian was worth anything. All the missing limbs and uncomfortable Orlesian chairs in the world.

And yet, soon enough, Dorian would be gone. And what would he be left with, exactly? What was the purpose of everything then?

"You've got some melancholy on your face there," Dorian said. "Not at breakfast!"

"Sorry. Just thinking."

"Well, stop that," Dorian said. "Here, I know what will cheer you up: some unfathomable pastries. Go on, have one. I can't stand being alone in this suffering."

"Well, with that sort of ringing endorsement..." Lavellan scanned the tray, then snatched up an odd pink puff crusted with he didn't even know what, shoving the whole of it into his mouth.

Dorian leaned in eagerly, watching as Lavellan chewed once, twice, his face drawing into a grimace. "Mmf -- what on..."

"I don't know!" Dorian said, clearly delighted. "I have no idea."

Lavellan was chewing long and slow, seeming to be torn between swallowing it down and spitting it out. At last, he squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed. "Creators, what is in that? Strawberries and mushrooms and... salt?"

"Mushrooms, you say? There's a theory... I thought it might be cherries and pork fat."

Lavellan fairly gagged. "Plausible... I hate this country."

"I know, love," Dorian said. "Now, please, I beg you to try the pointy green one. It's been bothering me for almost an hour."

"This is what you woke me up for, really?"

"What can I say?" Dorian said with an easy smile. "I was starting to miss you."

That one hurt. It legitimately and unnecessarily hurt, squeezing inside Lavellan's chest, sending an odd spark down his left arm. He felt the tiniest prickling of tears in his eyes and wondered just when he had become so damn sensitive.

But the truth was that he really did miss Dorian already. He missed him from every day stretching ahead of him in the future, and every single day in the past where he had been a misguided young man with no earthly idea that someone like Dorian could possibly exist for him. He missed Dorian deeply, painfully, from those days. And on a lovely calm morning like this one, where Dorian was here and they were free to spend every waking moment together, Lavellan knew all of that that made no fucking sense whatsoever, and yet that didn't ease the feeling one bit.

"I love you, Dorian," Lavellan said.

Dorian drew his brows together, attempting to read Lavellan's face. He wondered if there might be another emotional explosion on the horizon. "Are you--"

"Enough to eat this pointy green thing for you," Lavellan said. "So you had just better appreciate that."

"Oh, trust me, I do," Dorian said. "There's no one in the entire world I'd rather suffer through this pretentious breakfast with."

"Charming," Lavellan said, and he popped the pointy green thing in his mouth, then promptly gagged. "Fenedhis..."

"I know!" Dorian crowed. "It's excruciating."