First arch - 1

All are gathered in the great hall. All are drinking and feasting like there will be no tomorrow. The Inquisitor steps away from the crowd and just looks at the scene. The warm lighting of the candles on the golden draperies, its reflection on the bronze statues and, further away, on his silver throne. It is not over, not yet, he thinks. But for the moment, everything tastes like peace.

He is exhausted after his fight against the Elder One. He can still feel how cold the ground of the faded Conclave was under his feet while he ran after him. He can still feel the magical breathe of the archdemon against his cheeks, as he inflicted the final blow upon him. He wishes he had some energy left in him, for he deeply wants to talk to his friends. To Iron Bull, whose laughter covers all voices at the table. To Sera, already drunk, who is telling the false tale of how her arrows killed a god. To Varric, who is obviously contemplating the storyline for his next book. To Cullen, tall and strong, and yet slightly intimidated by some Orlesian nobles who will not leave him alone. He wants to stand next to Vivienne and pretend he also could understand the political meaning behind frivolous talks. He wishes he could look at Leliana in the eyes and not be frightened by her cold determination. He wishes he could tell Cole how proud he was of him becoming more human every day. He might try to hug the proud Blackwall, who has finally become the best man he could ever be. He would like to be as heroic as Cassandra, who, in his heart, will always be the better inquisitor of them both, even though she is not even the Inquisitor.

But he cannot do all of that, can he? For everything is different now. Before, they all had one goal, and they all worked together in achieving it. What will become of the Inquisition now? What will become of him? He feels he has no purpose anymore. He wishes he could talk to Solas, ask for his enlightenment, for his wisdom. Solo might have told him. "Lethallin, he would say, you can now choose who you want to be". That would have been vague enough for solace. And not precise enough for him. Shall he remain here, shall he remain Inquisitor Levallan? Should he go back to his clan, which he misses so deeply? He could have an easier life there, a life he had craved for during all those dark times.
A warm hand on his forearm makes him jump. How had Dorian managed to cross the entire hall without him noticing him? How deeply lost in thoughts is he truly?
"...to me, Dorian says, upset.
- I beg your pardon?
- You're not listening to me!"
Despite his angry look, he knows Dorian is not truly annoyed. He has learned to distinguish true emotions from irony, which the Tevinter mage uses in the most inappropriate moments.

"I am sorry, I was thinking about...
- You are thinking about going to your quarters at once, and enjoy the deep night's sleep you deserve, Dorian explains, with fake haughty accents.
- I couldn't possibly, I should spend time with them.
- Did I make it sound like you had the option?" and, without waiting for him to react, Dorian pulls his forearm with a surprising mix of softness and determination.
To everyone who tries to stop him – including Levallan himself – the game simply ignores as he keeps moving forward. Josephine vainly tries to address the Inquisitor, but he's taken away.

The ambassador cannot hide her laughter. She wanted to please Levallan so deeply that she did not for one second thought about how exhausted he might be. And the one to take care of him, of all people, was the one everyone described as selfish. The irony of it all!

"Alright, alright, enough with the drama already!

What drama? I am simply willing to have you for myself, Amatus.

So this was all part of your plan? I should have known better.

How silly of you yo believe I might actually care. There are so many things that cannot be done in the great hall you see.

And you could not find a better excuse to drag me here than my so-called exhaustion? You can do so much better than that, Dorian."

Dorian smiles at him, but his smile quickly fades away. He gently readjusts the Inquisitor's collar, while staring at the thin Elven neck. Is he hesitant? Levallan wonders. But what would he be hesitant about?

"I...actually wanted to talk to you in private." Dorian's eyes abondon his neck as he adds: "I know a simple talk is not something I normally crave for!

Alright Dorian, I am listening, he says, trying to calm the mage down a bit. Excitation is such a strong defense mechanism in this one!

Well, I might have taken a decision regarding this all Tevinter issue."

The Inquisitor freezes. He knew the issue would have to be addressed. He did not manage to tell Dorian not to go back to Tevinter. Deep down, he was devastated, he could not bare the thought of being left alone, not after all of this, not before sharing thousands of wonders with him, not before they both could learn more from one another. But Dorian cares for Tevinter. How selfish would it have been to ask him to stay? Espacially now, now that is was all over, he knows he has to let him go. Without letting him see how deeply he is hurt.

"I have decided to stay, Dorian says.

You know this is the best thing to do, Tevinter is your home and it needs you.

You are not listening, Amatus. Again. I said I am staying. Here. With the Inquisition.

You...what? How come?

Well, that is certainly not the reaction I expected. But since you ask, let me put it simply: there is no you in Tevinter. Is that reason enough?"

He feels so happy at this moment he tries to forget how selfish it is for him to feel that way. He is about to say the most adorable thing to Dorian, but he is stopped by a tanned finger over his lips.

"Now, now, you are about to say something syrupy, aren't you? Forgive me, but I don't believe in words, I believe in actions..."