Alright, let's see. How to start this story… Maybe we should start at the beginning. Yes. Yes, that should be a good place.
Well, it was an early morning, with barely drying dew sprinkled freshly on the grass, light wisps of snow melting on the mountainside, and the sun just starting to rise – along with a certain Tevinter male.
Rising meaning coming out of slumber, of course.
Though, he'd had plenty of the other kind of rising the night before last with his precious Inquisitor, but that was a different story, for another time.
And speaking of the Dalish elf, he, unlike Dorian, had awoken hours before to ready his Hart for their group's long few days of travelling to the Western Approach. Because who doesn't like getting up early for that? Toxic gasses!
Whoop-dee-freaking-doo.
But he would and could never deny his Amatus anything. Especially his request of travelling with him to a barren and noxious wasteland. Without his charming help, their inquisitor was entirely likely to trip on a pile of rocks, fall down a mountain, and end up cracking his head open on a nug.
Somehow.
He was just that talented.
More likely was that the incredibly innocent and gullible elf would end up offering help to a stranger, only realizing that it was a trap when the cell door was locked in his face.
And even then he might not understand.
Not to say that the boy was foolish. Oh no, he was actually rather wise for only knowing the mountains and forests for the better part of his nineteen years. And he'd been through a lot worse than simply falling down a large hill, and he'd only come back with less than a few scratches, those times. So maybe he was being a bit overprotective… But he was still going with them.
And so, with that one decision, the fate of the next few days was sealed.
He knew it.
He just knew it.
Dorian had known something would happen, but to have something like this?
Of this magnitude?
It was…
Unspeakable.
"Dorian…" the Inquisitor choked out. "I'm…so sorry…"
Dorian sighed shakily.
"As am I…"
"What is the matter with you two?" Solas cut in. "A bit of stray rain in Dorian's hair and you act as if someone's died."
"But, Solas," Inquisitor Lonely Lavellan stressed. "It's rain. In hair."
"Indeed, it is." Solas uncomfortably glanced at the boy's large eyes, the crimson orbs beginning to shine with unshed tears. "But, ah… It's a travesty. Truly. We must set up camp and dry off immediately."
Lonely sniffled, dramatically wiping away the tears that Dorian was suddenly aware were most likely an act. He may have been the nicest and most innocent person Dorian had ever met, but he sure knew how to be mischievous when he wanted to be.
Characteristics he'd surely not picked up from the Pavus himself.
Perish the thought!
As the group of two elves, a blond farm boy in a strange hat, and a vision of beauty that only the Maker himself could create set up their small camp on the edge of a cliff – which was just a splendid idea, truly – Dorian thought to himself about the individuals in the camp with him at that current moment. Sparing a glance to where Solas and Cole were heatedly talking about, eh…something or other, the Tevinter mage thought on them.
Why did they even have to take someone who was most likely a serial murderer with them? Someone who was practically a demon for the Maker's sake. He could kill all of them if he wanted, and Dorian just swore he was the only one able to realize the fact that this man, this monster, was going to be the absolute end of them…!
Oh, and Cole was there, as well.
Cole was nice.
And then there was his lovely elven Inquisitor, with his eerily large, unnaturally coloured vermillion eyes that were constantly crowded with black powder, taking the shape of sharp, wing-like fashions on the skin at the corners of the orbs. Though, Dorian mused, if he had to choose just one physical aspect of the young Dalish that was his favourite, it would have to be his long, dark ebony locks that reached to the middle of his toothpick-like torso, contracting beautifully to his practically white skin. He'd mentioned several times that he'd been thinking of cutting his hair, but Dorian wouldn't have it, throwing the elf under him and distracting him with certain…methods…that were always good for turning the boy into a blushing, stuttering mess.
Dorian couldn't help himself; he liked Lonely's long hair. How it was braided in several places at the temples to keep it back in a sort of black mane, how he'd put several smaller braids all throughout the expanse of the silken strands…
Perfect for tugging during aforementioned 'methods'.
But there was always something that bothered him about his little lover…
His name.
Not that it wasn't a great name. Dorian loved the name, in fact. But… What had compelled the elf's parents to name him something as cryptic as 'Lonely'…?
Actually… Now that he thought about it…
Dorian paused his work of taking a break, his kohl-crowded eyes going wide.
Oh.
The Tevinter mage straightened up, beginning to stride over to the edge of the cliff, where Lonely was beginning to take out his tent. And as much as Dorian greatly admired watching the boy bend over to pull the tent skins out of his leather bag (and Maker, did he admire it…) he knew that they needed to have a talk. Or, at the very least, the Inquisitor needed to answer a question of his.
"Amatus," Dorian called when he was within proper speaking distance. The boy looked up with a sweet smile that was quickly sobered when he saw his lover's serious expression.
"E-Emma lath…?" Lonely stuttered out. He could stand up to demon armies with witty remarks, sure, but he always seemed to get frightened when people close to him seemed to be angry with him.
It was adorable.
"I need to speak with you."
Lonely's big eyes somehow got even bigger at the words, and he took a hesitant step backwards.
"I-I… Um…"
At the small amount of hurt in the young elf's red eyes, understanding dawned on Dorian. Did Lonely think he was ending their relationship…? Seeing as he tended to jump the worst possible conclusion at all times, Dorian knew, that was most likely what was going through his mind.
Dorian took a step forward, to which the boy took an equal one back. The mage frowned, reaching a ringed hand towards the elf. And then… It happened.
Lonely slipped.
With a small yelp and tumble down the mountain, the Inquisitor fell to his demise.
Well, not really.
Wouldn't that've been horrible?
Truthfully, the cliff they were camped on wasn't that far from the ground. It wasn't even really a fall. More like… A slide. The only problem was, well…
"What is this?!"
Within seconds, Solas had appeared next to Dorian on the cliff to hold the man back from going down to help their Inquisitor, and to evaluate the situation. 'The situation', of course, being a very mad elf in a very wet puddle of…something. Lonely glared up at the two with seething anger.
Well, seething anger for him.
Which was about as threatening as a sleeping nug.
Dorian often wondered how on Earth the mistake of appointing him their leader had been made.
Perhaps the Inquisitor's advisors knew something he, himself, did not.
"Ah… Lethallin, I don't want you to worry," Solas commented from Dorian's right. "but that isn't water you're soaked with."
There was a pause from the other elf.
"…What is it, then?"
"I'd say it is the source of a strange type of gas that has been polluting the area. In its gaseous form, it causes nothing other than slight illness, but its liquid form has been known to have…different results."
Lonely splashed a hand down into the not-water. "And what is it?"
Solas hesitated. "…Cole, would you help the Inquisitor out of those waters? Do try not to touch them much, if you can help it. Him, as well, actually."
Cole did as he was told, disappearing from his place in the middle of their unfished camp and reappearing down by the young Lavellan to carefully lift him from the puddle. After that was done, the two staggered back up the small hill, the gentle spirit heeding his friend's advice and trying not to touch the other man. And Lonely seemed to be just fine with being left, well, alone, as he huffed and crossed his soaked arms.
Dorian's heart couldn't help but melt at the sight of his young lover, who was quite obviously annoyed, and adorable that way.
Perhaps he was a bad person, but Dorian suddenly wished they were alone.
Preferably on Lonely's silk, cushy bed.
With chocolate.
Preferably also on Lonely.
Oh, yes.
"…orian? Dorian, are you quite alright?"
"Flushed, fevered, fetishes of foods and skin set on fire with feelings. 'Touch me,' you imagine him–"
"Ah, Cole," Solas broke in, drawing to him the innocent eyes of the friendly spirit, the suddenly rapt attention of the mustachioed Pavus, and the comically wide eyes of the still-soaking-wet elf. "You mustn't pry. It can be…invasive into one's…private thoughts."
The boy looked a mixture of taken aback, guilty, and absolutely heartbroken, as he looked down at the dirt ground below them.
"I'm sorry…"
Solas put a thin hand on Cole's shoulder. "I'm sure it's completely alright. Isn't it, Dorian?"
Noting the persuasive glare that was leveled at him, Dorian glowered solemnly.
"Yes. Of course," Dorian muttered, forcing his gritted, pearly white teeth into something that somewhat resembled the distant cousin of a smile. And though he could tell that the young spirit wasn't convinced, he was glad to leave this conversation at Cole's mirrored polite grimace.
"E-eh?! What the–?!"
At the Lavellan's panicked cries, the rest of the party hurriedly turned towards the wet…
…Dry?
What.
"…Amatus… Do tell me if I've finally gone senile, but…were you not soaked to the bone just moments ago…?"
The boy shook his head rapidly, his dry hair swaying with the movement. The artificial shadowing around his eyes hadn't dripped down his cheeks, the Tevinter noticed. Nor, he realized, had he ever seen him with it off.
How odd.
"N-no, I was! I-I thought… I… I'm pretty sure I… Um… Solas…?"
A tight, slightly unnerving smile crossed the mage's lips. "So, the liquid is, indeed, what I suspected it was… Not to worry, lethallin, it's simply absorbed into your skin."
Lonely lightly inclined his head in questioning.
"Due time," was his explanation.
"'Due time,'" Lonely repeated. "Due… Right. And when, in the name of the Creators, is 'due time' supposed to be…?"
"Oh…" he responded, seeming to be lost in thought for a moment, though Dorian was sure he already knew. Maker, that man was as sly as a wolf…
"'Oh?'" Dorian repeated, following his lover's lead of impatience.
"Soon," Solas explained. Kind of.
Well, not at all, really.
"And how soon is 'soon', exactly?"
Solas turned around, Cole following timidly, to begin repacking the tents they'd only just begun taking out. "'Soon', Dorian, is soon enough. Regrettably, we must abandon our quest and return to Skyhold immediately."
"Wait, what?" Lonely asked, quickly walking forward after the apostate. He stumbled, Dorian noticed. He didn't do that. He was an elf, after all. Elves were all… Elfy. And stuff.
Yeah.
Though, the Inquisitor didn't just stumble, the mage saw. He completely tripped, falling on Cole, and tumbling them both to the ground in the process. Dorian was at his side in an instant, of course, offering his lover a hand, whilst Solas did the same for his friendly spirit.
"Graceful, Amatus. Truly. You must tell me your secret of how you remain so poised at all times."
Lonely glared at him, though there was quite obviously no real malice behind it. Then, suddenly, his eyes drooped, glazing over with an obvious exhaustion.
"Ugh…" the boy groaned, sinking to his knees and breathing quite heavily. Was this that liquid drug taking hold…?
"Amatus? Are you alright?"
"I'm… I think I'm f…ine… Tired… I think."
With one gloved hand to his face and the other on his lover's forearm, Lonely shakily used Dorian as leverage to pull himself to his feet. He swayed, just trying to stay standing…
…And promptly passed out cold.
Dorian made a small sound of surprise, quickly catching the boy in his arms before he hit the ground. The Tevinter male shook the boy gently but firmly.
"Amatus? Amatus! Hey!"
"Worry not," Solas finally said, coming up to the pair. The two seemed to have already packed up the barely-set-up camp, all of their items carefully strapped onto their individual mounts. Lavellan's Hart was tied to Dorian's horse, the mage noticed. Meaning Solas knew he'd pass out. Wonderful. "The drug in his system is not lethal, though I do suspect he'll be unconscious for most, if not all, of the trip back. At most, he won't be himself for a few days when he wakes. I trust you'll, ah…deal with him, these upcoming nights…?"
Dorian couldn't help but wonder what that wording had meant, but he simply nodded, and picked the Inquisitor up as one would carry a bride.
Solas smiled disarmingly at him.
"Wonderful. Now… Shall we go?"
Dorian quirked a perfect eyebrow at the man, a challenging smirk curling his lips. This was a game. He didn't know how, but it was. It had to be. And he absolutely refused to lose.
"I do believe we shall."
One day had passed since they'd arrived back in Skyhold, and the Inquisitor had yet to awaken.
It had taken nearly four days to get back, and still, still, Solas refused to tell him what, exactly, Lonely had accidently been drugged with. And while it had been incredibly amusing to watch the Inquisitor's advisors panic when they were presented with the unconscious body of their leader, it hadn't cheered the golden-skinned Tevinter up in the slightest.
Dorian just didn't understand. He stayed by his side, day and night, but still, nothing.
Though, in his lover's absence, he had learned that Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen were hiding something about Lonely. Once the Dalish boy had been placed in his bed late into the night, with Dorian seated in a wooden chair directly by his bedside, Josephine had calmly walked into his room, snuffed the lit candle that was placed on his desk, and walked out, leaving the always-close-curtained room in pitch blackness. Not even enough light for a shadow, Dorian remembered thinking. And though he'd long-since learned to adjust his eyes to the young Lavellan's dark room, it was still…odd, that Josephine contributed.
Maybe it was something that related to his strange eyes, or practically unknown past? Or, perhaps, his fear of magic, and fire, and fire magic… It had been a challenge, getting Lonely to trust him, let alone getting him to…
Dorian allowed a small smile to grace his lips. That… That had been a challenge. Especially since, when Lonely had first seen him use his flame magic the first time they'd first met in Redcliffe (only the Maker knew why he'd decided to meet with mages, when he was terrified of them) he seemed to barely be able to stand him, even going so far as to hide behind Cassandra when Dorian attempted conversation.
Honestly, Dorian couldn't figure out why the boy was afraid of fire – not really. He understood the general fear of being burned, but it didn't seem to be that. Lonely never seemed bothered by the blazing sun above them when they traveled. In fact, he seemed to prefer traveling when it was especially bright. Not like his magic, or subtle candle flames, he supposed. Though, those did always cast beautiful lights, Dorian mused. Interesting shadows, as well.
There was that word again, the man realized.
Shadows.
But what, pray tell, did chilling darkness have to do with his warm-hearted lover?
Suddenly, the grip he hadn't realized he'd taken on Lonely's hand tightened. Though, not on his end. Dorian's dark eyes glanced up when a groan reached his ears. Was he really waking up?
"Amatus?"
A rustling in the sheets. Then…
"Emma lath…?"
"Yes," Dorian breathed out in relief. "Yes, I'm here. How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?"
Silence.
"Amatus…?"
"Dorian?"
"Ye–"
"Dorian. Dor-i-an. Hey. Hey, Dory."
"Yes, Amatus, what?"
"Do my feet…look like bear paws…?"
"…What?"
Lonely suddenly shot straight up on the bed, his elven eyes flashing in the dark. Before Dorian could even get another word in, the boy turned to him, quick as an arrow, and pointed an accusing finger at him.
"You!"
Dorian slowly got to his feet, holding up his ringed hands in a gesture of surrender. "Now, now, Amatus, let's not–"
"You were going to end things with me!"
Oh, right. That misunderstanding.
"Ah, no, I–"
Lonely cut him off, once again, as he suddenly burst into wailing sobs.
Well. This was…
Different.
Lonely never really cried, only ever faking for the fun of making people around the castle fret, and think they'd upset him. He was odd in his definition of 'fun', to say the least. But one thing he was sure about, was that Lonely would never cry in a situation where he didn't have most of the facts to support his sadness.
Well, Solas had said he wouldn't be himself for a few days.
Perhaps this was what he'd meant.
Dorian sat next to the boy, and gently put his hands on his pale, unclothed shoulders, trying to ignore how they were shaking with his sobs.
"Amatus, I'm not ending things with you."
Slowly, his cries died down, and he lifted his head to lock onto Dorian's gaze. "…Really?"
"Really." Dorian smiled sweetly at the elf. "However, I did want to ask you a question."
Lonely's big eyes went huge.
"Are you…proposing to me?"
Dorian let go of him as he'd been burned by his own flames, shaking his head rapidly. "No! N-no, I… No."
Had that really just come up…? Well, ah… It wasn't as if he wouldn't want to, but… It was just…a bit too soon.
"You do want to break up with me."
At the accusatory yet solemn tone in his lover's voice, Dorian sank back down onto the mattress from where he'd jumped to his feet in surprise. The Tevinter mage gently picked up the elf's thin yet calloused hands in his own. The curious part of Dorian wanted to admire the difference in colour their joined hands had, but he had more important things at the forefront of his mind to care.
Despite his constant trying, Lonely wouldn't meet his eyes. Finally, Dorian released one of his hands to grab the tip of one of his ears, willing himself to ignore the slight shiver it produced, and tugging so as to bring his suddenly-hazy eyes back level with his own.
"Look at me. I've said I didn't, yes?"
"Well… Yeah, but–"
"But nothing," Dorian cut in. "My question, in all actuality, has nothing to do with our…relations."
"Then what?"
"Well, it's… Ah, I'm not entirely sure how to ask…"
"Well," Lonely started, a gentle smile on his pale lips. "Maybe with some ale?"
Dorian chuckled, a deep sound low in his throat, and shook his head. Normally, he'd never deny himself a drink, (even if it was the bad ale that Lonely kept in his room) but they needed to have a nice, serious, sober, conversation.
Apparently.
He was probably going to regret that decision.
"I wanted to ask… About your parents. Or, ah… Lack thereof."
At the elf's pained and twisted expression, Dorian was suddenly aware that he probably should've worded that differently. Tears welled up in his eyes again, but he used the heel of his hand to angrily rub them away before they became too much of an issue. His eye powder didn't smudge, Dorian realized. Nor had it in the few days he'd been unconscious. His own would've been long wiped off by this time, so… If it wasn't makeup…
What was it?
"They, um…" Lonely tried to explain, his tone choked and raspy.
"No, ah, Amatus, you don't have to. If it's painful, you don't need… I mean… You don't need to feel obligated to tell me."
The elf shook his head. "It's time."
Dorian gently stroked his thumb over the hand that was still grasped tightly in his own for comfort. "You're sure?"
Lonely let out a shaky breath. "I'm sure."
There was a small pause, in which Dorian actually wasn't sure if he was going to go through with his explanation, until, finally, his voice broke through the silence.
"I killed them."
Oh.
Okay.
Well, that was a dandy explanation. Truly. Dorian raised an eyebrow at him.
"W-Well, I didn't really…kill them, but…"
Dorian allowed himself to move a small bit closer. "But…?"
Lonely looked deeply into the older man's eyes.
"Dorian… I have magic."
The man's eyes widened.
What?
Lonely quickly took to attempting to explain himself.
"It's bad magic. Really bad. Dark. It… It hurts people. I-I had a lover, back in my clan. Kind of. And the magic, it… I… Why…are you looking at me like that?"
Dorian shook himself out of his stupor. "Apologies. I'm…processing this. Not the lover. We'll, ah… Talk about that later. You mean to tell me that you're a mage?"
Lonely pulled his hand from Dorian's, curling in on himself and quite obviously expecting some kind of rejection. "I…guess you could call me one. But I never use it. I can't control it."
Well. This was certainly proving to be an interesting night. He wanted to ask more, ask everything, but it was quite difficult when he could only just see Lonely's outline and the flash of his red eyes. There was a candle on the desk, he remembered. Pulling himself off of the bed, Dorian made his way over to the young Lavellan's desk. He could feel Lonely's eyes on his back, but the elf kept quiet. That is, until he unexpectedly engulfed the wick in his flames.
"No!" he shouted, reaching his hand out in horror. Which turned out to be a mistake, as all the shadows that were in the room suddenly turned towards the flame mage like suddenly crystalline black daggers.
Okay.
Today was shaping up to be the kind of day one hopes is simply a dream. Or horrendous nightmare.
Most likely the latter.
Dorian froze on the spot, only letting his eyes move to glace at Lonely. The boy had also stopped moving, his arm still outstretched, and barely allowing himself to breathe. Dorian swallowed thickly.
"…Lonely," he whispered. He rarely used the boy's real name anymore, but he didn't feel like using a pet name was very necessary at the moment.
"…Yes?"
"W… What did you say…happened to that old lover of yours…?"
"I, um… I didn't…say."
"Well… Are you going to tell me? Now might be a…a good time."
Lonely allowed himself a deep breath, the shadows seeming to recede with the motion, before they grew back thicker with his exhalation.
"He, um… He a-attacked me, one day–"
"Attacked?" Dorian cut him off, forgetting for a moment that he wasn't supposed to move, and turning towards the elf. A quiet screech echoed throughout the room, and Lonely let out a small cry of panic.
"Dorian…! Please, don't move."
He complied in stilling, but continued their whispered conversation. "What do you mean 'attacked'?"
"You know… Like… Attacked."
Dorian raised an eyebrow.
"Creators, Dorian… I-I wouldn't…be with him. So he, um… He tried to…"
Oh.
"I see." But a word rang through. Tried. "He didn't go through with it?"
"Nearly. But… I panicked. And…" Lonely's voice dropped to such a quiet tone that Dorian had to strain to hear him. "They tore him apart."
There was a pause.
"So, I'm going to become the most handsome piece of minced meat there's ever been? I look forward to it."
Lonely gave him a look.
"Alright, alright. Is there any way to avoid a repeat performance?"
"I… I don't know. I shouldn't ask, but… Do you have any ideas?"
A curious look made its way across Dorian's face. Blatantly ignoring the shadows, he walked right up to the elf and sat down on the bed next to him again. Lonely looked terrified as the shadows recoiled and hissed.
"Dorian–"
"Are you alright?"
Eh?
"What? Of course not! The magic is–!"
Suddenly, when Lonely turned his head to look around the room, he seemed to snap out of his stupor. The shadows were gone, the candle wasn't lit, Dorian didn't even look like he'd moved in the first place… No. No, that couldn't be right. Hadn't Dorian been thinking, and reacting, and…
And…
Had he been anticipating Dorian's reactions, and…
Hallucinating them?
Completely ignoring the concerned look his lover was giving him, frantically began wracking his brain.
Why would he be hallucinating?
Nothing unusual had happened recently. Not like… Like…
Certainly nothing like falling into a small pond of toxic water.
Because that hadn'thappened.
Creators, he was an absolute idiot at times.
"Amatus," Dorian stressed, calling his lover's attention back to him. "What magic? I asked you about your parents, and suddenly, your head was in the clouds. Are you feeling alright?"
Lonely, perplexed, just stared at Dorian with wide eyes. So he…hadn't revealed to Dorian everything he previously just thought he had…?
"…Amatus?"
The Inquisitor covered his eyes with his hands and groaned, flopping backwards on the sheets. Which appeared to be a bad idea, as the second his head hit the pillow, he was, once again, unconscious from whatever drug was still in his system.
And so, he knew, upon waking, would begin another 'normal' day for the Inquisition.