I've been stuck in a hole of Dragon Age for the past six months and only now have I been able to surface long enough to get my thoughts on paper. Please enjoy this view into my little fangirl's heart, reviews and everything are so appreciated but to be honest I'd be perfectly happy knowing I'm not the only one that cries over Cullen Rutherford at night.
If you want to see more of me being a massive fangirl over literally everything to do with Dragon Age then please check out my Tumblr at preparefortrevelyans. Hit me up, Let's be DA trash together.
Cullen was exhausted. It was a deep, aching tiredness that had settled behind his eyes and in his bones. The war table swam in and out of focus and he blinked, cracking his shoulders and straightening up. He wasn't the only one having trouble concentrating, Josephine was hiding delicate yawns behind her hand between every other sentence, and the Inquisitor was staring out of the window with a vacant stare. Only Leliana looked as composed and alert as ever, but she was so talented at hiding her state of being that she could have been fast asleep for all he knew.
Please, please Maker let this be over soon. The exhaustion was easier to ignore when he was at his desk, with the constant stream of soldiers coming and going, or taking part in training exercises where he could focus on was the ache in his muscles. He was no good at standing here and listening to Josephine wax poetic about which Orlesian noble has shown allegiance to which Orlesian noble, and how that affected them.
They were all tired for the same reason, of course. It had been a little over a month since they had found Skyhold, and all of them had been labouring non-stop to make it a secure base. Today was the first day he had woken up before soldiers had started showing up with work at his office, and considering how little sleep he usually got, that was really saying something. The Inquisitor had returned from a two week expedition to Crestwood that morning, Josephine dealt with obnoxious nobles on a regular basis which was enough to grind anyone's teeth, and Maker only knows what Leliana did in the hours she spent up in the rookery.
"And finally…" Josephine hid another yawn as Cullen felt the first stirrings of hope. He glanced at the Inquisitor, who looked like he was trying to make time speed up using the power of his mind. He was most likely desperate to go up to the library and be reunited with his Tevinter lover. He doubted Dorian was any less eager; as he had walked through the rotunda to get from the rampart to the main hall on the way to meeting he had seen the mage appear briefly over the railings from the floor above at the sound of footsteps, then retreat just as quickly when he realised who it was.
It was endearing really, the way the two men acted around each other, it was so conflicting with the way they portrayed themselves. Dorian was a show off, who hid behind a wall of well-groomed sarcasm and confidence. He flirted outrageously with anything that moved and his favourite pastime until fairly recently had been seeing how uncomfortable he could make Cullen before the Commander left his presence. The Inquisitor, though less inclined to make a scene every time he entered a room, had even more of an intense presence.
Oliver Trevelyan was an imposing figure of a man. At six and a half foot he was a nose taller than Cullen, and head and shoulders over everyone else in their group of acquaintances, apart from the Iron Bull and Madame De Fer. A born warrior, he was broad and powerful, yet measured in his attitude. Cullen didn't know how he acted around his friends, but with his advisors and when he was working, he was calm and measured, never taking rash and extreme action unless the situation called for it. He was skilled at hiding his emotions from strangers, and everything about the way he was spoke of someone that had grown up in a noble household. Despite this, Cullen didn't dislike the man, far from it. He had a great deal of respect for anyone that dealt with hardship with strength and maturity, let alone someone revered by many as the Herald of Andraste.
Separately, they demanded attention, whether purposefully or not. But when they were together, a deep calm settled over the two of them. When news had first spread that the Inquisitor had begun a romantic relationship with one of his companions, Cullen had had to endure Leliana and Josephine fawning over the two of them while they were waiting for the Inquisitor one meeting. According to Leliana, most of the time they were together they would bury themselves in the mage's nook of the library, sitting and reading quietly together. When not doing that, they walked and talked and laughed and shot gooey looks at each other across the room. Leliana had been amused at the concept of two men who made a living out of killing another people being so mushy, and Josephine had found it all incredibly romantic. Cullen had rubbed his head to counteract a growing lyrium headache and prayed the Inquisitor would arrive soon.
Josephine finally finished speaking, and the Inquisitor let out a sigh, bringing a hand up to rub one eye. "Are we done here?" Cullen said, already thinking about the mountain of reports likely waiting in his office.
"I believe so." The Antivan replied, looking out of the window slightly wistfully. "If we reconvene here again the day after tomorrow, we can…"
The door to the War Room slammed open, and for a moment Cullen thought Skyhold was falling down around them. Wood bounced off stone as a figure stormed into the room and headed straight for the Inquisitor. His hand went to his sword on instinct, and next to him Josephine gasped as Trevelyan span around to face the newcomer. Two soldiers appeared seconds after and made a grab for the intruder, both babbling frantically.
"Apologies Inquisitor…"
"We couldn't stop them…"
"Told them you were indisposed…"
"Inquisitor?"
Leliana's eyes were on Trevelyan. The giant warrior, who had faced demons and rifts and Maker knows what else, had blanched and was white faced, staring at the stranger. His voice, when he spoke, sounded shaken.
"What in Andraste's name are you doing here?"
Dorian was in trouble. He knew it was trouble because it was so sweet, like the honeyed cakes he used to sneak out of the kitchen when he was still a young boy. It was trouble because it had crept into his mind and was always there, anytime he let his concentration slip, hanging at the edges of his consciousness. Thoughts of him.
Oliver.
Amatus.
Dorian hadn't dared to speak that word aloud yet, but it was there on the tip of his tongue whenever they spoke, so close to falling out.
He sighed. Even now, when he was supposed to be reading a fascinating text on the ancient houses of Tevinter, was his mind drifting back to Oliver.
He was so attractive Dorian could ache from it. Tall enough for him to rest his head in the crook of his neck, with a pair of the most intense blue eyes the Tevinter mage had ever seen. They shone pale in the sunlight and glimmered when he laughed, but Dorian loved the deep cerulean colour they went in candlelight, when they lay together, sweaty and deliriously happy in the afterglow. That colour was for him alone.
Where he was well groomed, Oliver was wild. His hair was a dark mess of curls that went to the nape of his neck and hung over his eyes. His features were strong and defined, but when he smiled he looked like the most mischievous little shit Dorian had ever encountered.
He was also shockingly poor at navigating social situations, despite his upbringing, with an interest in ancient wars and battle techniques that bordered on obsessive and Maker it was easy to make him blush.
Yes, Dorian was definitely in trouble.
He'd been on the edge of his seat for the past two days. Not literally of course, he was far too talented to show any signs of restlessness in front of the masses, even if they were mainly Grand Enchanter Fiona and Leliana's dozens of crows. Waiting to hear that he'd returned from Crestwood. He was only meant to go there to meet this Hawke, but something had gone wrong – of course it had, it shouldn't even be a surprise at this point – and it had been weeks since they'd seen each other.
When Oliver had appeared at the top of the stairs Dorian thought his heart was going to leap out of his body. A sarky greeting had been on the tip of his tongue, something about the smell of the Crestwood bog on his lover, he couldn't remember, but it would have been funny. Instead he'd been pulled into a sloppy, open mouth kiss that immediately shot bolts of desire through him one like of Vivienne's electric shocks, and had him tugging on Oliver's hair and grabbing at him in a sudden and frantic desire. Two weeks without the feel of this man on top of him had him half hard and wanting from one kiss. He knew the library was hardly the most private of places but he was still ready to shove his amatus up against the bookshelf and rub himself on him in a really very inappropriate way, when Oliver broke apart from him with a gasp.
"Well…" He managed to say, trying to come back to a more normal state of being.
"I missed you." Oliver rasped, sounding and looking positively sinful. "I've a war meeting I can't avoid right now but…wait for me."
Maker strike him down, Dorian would have given anything to have a suave comment at the ready, but all he could do was grin at the man in front of him in a disgustingly soppy way and nod.
And that had been…more than three hours ago. He sighed and tapped his foot against the stone floor. He could be patient when the situation allowed it, but to turn up and make him as desperate for sex as a sailor coming into port, then just leave him high and try was just the height of rudeness.
Then, an idea hit him and with a smirk he rose from his chair. If Oliver was going to inspire a reaction like that in him then the very least he could do was reciprocate in kind.
When the Inquisitor finally dragged his luscious behind out of the War Room and back to his quarters, Dorian would be there. And this time, a simple kiss was not going to satisfy.
The main hall was abuzz with noise when he entered from the rotunda. The many social climbing Orlesians that had positioned themselves around the spacious room had separated into groups, and had their heads bowed, whispering excitedly to each other. This in itself was nothing new, but there was something different going on. Perhaps something had happened in Crestwood?
Dorian glanced to his left. The dwarf was sitting at his usual perch, but instead of staring into the fire, or scribbling on a sheaf of parchment, he had his hands folded under his chin and was watching the goings with intense interest.
"Any idea what's going on?" He asked by way of greeting, and Varric leant back and gave him a grin of amusement.
"Someone apparently came charging through here like Corypheous and all his Red Templars were after them. I wasn't here to see it unfortunately, but one of the guards said she just charged into the War Room like she owned the damn place."
"She? Has a poor servant finally been driven mad with lust for our beautiful ambassador and tried to storm in there to reveal her feelings?"
Varric gave a deep chortle. "I don't know but whoever she is, she and our beloved leader disappeared into his quarters about forty five minutes ago, and the entire castle's trying to find out what's going on."
Curiosity officially piqued, Dorian raised an eyebrow. "His quarters you say? Interesting."
"Whatever you're about to interrupt Sparkler, I'd be careful. I've never seen Trevelyan look so furious, and that's saying something given some of the shit we've experienced."
"Concern noted. Ignored, but noted." Dorian replied, already moving through the nobles and towards the door. As much as he tried to be the voice of reason, the dwarf wanted to know what was going on as much as the rest of them, and would probably be the first to ply him with alcohol later in an attempt to find out.
Dorian had always liked that there was a corridor between the hall and Oliver's quarters. The noise of the hall was instantly drowned out the second the heavy door shut behind you, and the short corridor let him relax fully before going to his amatus. He knew Oliver liked the space, as it gave him time to unwind and let go of his 'Big Bad Inquisitor' front, and walking it together in an evening had become a little routine of theirs.
They were one of those couples that had 'evening habits'. The realisation was positively nauseating.
Oliver's door was just as soundproof as the one leading to the main hall, which Dorian was more than thankful for, for obvious reasons. It was a good thing on this occasion too, for when he inched open the bedroom door and slid inside, he was hit with a barrage of shouting voices.
"How could you be so stupid, do you have any idea how reckless this is?"
That was Oliver, and sounding more furious than Dorian had ever heard. He'd seen him angry of course, the first time they'd met he'd turned on Alexius with a cold fury. And that was the point. Oliver's anger was cold, low voiced and dangerous. He didn't shout with reckless abandonment, uncaring if he was heard or not. He didn't let his real emotions colour his tone, not when dealing with people he didn't know very, very well.
"Don't you dare, you hypocritical son of a- "
Varric was right, it was a woman. And clearly, someone familiar to him. He didn't know anyone who would dare to call the leader of the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste names like that. Well, he did but he doubted any of them would willingly come strolling into Skyhold.
"This is just so typical of you, you go off somewhere with no regard for your own safety and leave the rest of us in the dark, panicking."
"Oh I'm SORRY, are you offended that I didn't tell you I was coming? IMAGINE what that must feel like? Oh wait, I know exactly how that feels because you neglected to tell me you actually survived the avalanche on Haven and were very much alive and well!"
Slowly, trying not to be seen, Dorian ascended the stairs. Oliver was stood facing him, colour high in his cheeks, feet apart and arms folded. He cut an imposing figure, but the woman with her back to him appeared to be less than intimidated. She barely came up to his biceps, but stood with her feet planted on the floor, hands on wide hips that was grazed by long, red hair that twisted and curled as badly as Oliver's.
The person in question saw Dorian and faltered, arms falling to his sides. "Dorian! I'm so sorry, I forgot to-"
"No matter," he replied casually, leaning his hip against the stone bannister and adopting a casual demeanour. "Who's your friend, Inquisitor?"
The woman turned, and Dorian's eyebrows raised of their own accord. Oliver sighed and rubbed his forehead.
"Dorian, meet my sister, Aurelia. Aurelia, this is Dorian."
"I thought you were the youngest Trevelyan in that branch of the family?" Dorian directed the question at Oliver, who had taken his position of leaning against the stairwell. He was leaning on the desk, and Aurelia Trevelyan was sitting cross legged on the bed. She scoffed at the question.
"The youngest it was worth releasing to the public."
Looking at her, it was impossible to mistake the two of them as anything other than siblings. Her hair may be red and not black, but it fell across her face in exactly the same way, over eyes that (despite being a dark brown and not pale blue) were just as intense and focused. Her face was rounder, softer than her brothers, but her skin was the same pale shade and she was just as broad, curvy rather than muscly with a decidedly more feminine figure than her brother.
Dorian arched an eyebrow at her. "I'd recommend explaining that a bit more."
She arched an eyebrow right back. "I'd recommend you keep your large Tevinter nose out of something that doesn't concern you."
"Auri!" Oliver snapped. "What did we say about speaking politely to people we don't know?"
"You lost the right to patronise me like that when you forgot to tell me you were actually still alive!" She spat in return.
Dorian was having a whale of a time. His amatus' younger sister looked to be just as entertaining as her brother.
Oliver sighed again, clearly exasperated. "I'm sorry Auri, I really am. But things just got on top of me, and I never had a minute to myself and I just…"
"I had to find out from Mother, Olly." Her voice had taken on a pleading tone. "And she'd heard it from one of her 'contacts' in Val Royeux. Do you know how humiliating that was, to find out that you were alive from our mother?"
He flushed, and looked down. "I know Auri, I know."
"I know you're busy Olly, but one letter is all it would have taken! A sentence, even a word, just to let me know I hadn't lost another brother to the fucking hole in the sky."
Oliver took a step forward, like he wanted to give her a hug, but she let out a breath and straightened her back.
"So now you know why I had to get out. I'd been looking for the perfect time to go ever since you went to the Conclave, and Mother took herself off to Val Royeux to celebrate when news came that you'd survived the siege and I took my chance."
"But what about…"
"You know as well as I do that I'm in as much danger here as at home. I wanted to join the Inquisition and help, I wanted to be back with you, and I wanted to be out of our fucking home. Don't send me back Olly, you can't."
Her eyes were big, focused on him. She was scared, Dorian realised. She was genuinely afraid that he would send her home.
Olly glanced at him, and he motioned his head towards the door. "Should I go?"
"No." He said quickly, at the same time that Aurelia said "Yes."
"This is safe, Aurelia." He told her, walking over to the bed and sitting next to her. "You can trust Dorian with anything you trust me with."
Damn that soppy, soppy man. He smiled softly at him without really meaning to.
Aurelia's eyes darted between them, and her mouth opened slightly. "Are you two...?"
Dorian gave a dramatic sigh. "Yes, quite. The Tevinter pariah and the Inquisitor. It's quite a tragic love story."
Slowly, a smile spread across her face. It was identical to her brother's, large and genuine. It made her quite pretty, really. "I'm glad to see your taste has improved at least, Olly. He's much more handsome than some of the louts you'd drag in through your bedroom window at three in the morning."
"My dear if you keep complimenting me like that I'm afraid we're going to become very good friends." Dorian shot her one of his best cocky smiles and she huffed a laugh.
"Treat my favourite brother right and we'll be peachy keen."
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather go back home?" Oliver said, resting his hand on her arm. The look she gave him was scathing, to say the least.
"Are you joking? I'd rather be alone in the Western Approach at night than go back there. No, I'm staying."
Oliver murmured something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "Maker save us all." Then threw his hands up in defeat. "Alright, alright, alright. You can stay. We'll set you up in this room for the time being, while we find somewhere close enough where I can keep an eye on you. Go find Josephine, she'll be at the desk you passed like a stampeding Druffalo on your way to the War Room. She'll give you a tour, show you where everything is. Then comestraight back here to me, yes? We have to figure out how to break it to Mother."
Her smile could have lit up a room. "Thank you Olly." Sliding off the bed, she made it halfway to the stairs before she turned and pulled her brother into a fierce, one armed hug, and whispered something in his ear. Before opening the bedroom door she called into the room "You won't regret this!" before slamming it behind her.
Dorian looked at his lover, who let out a groan and fell back amongst his pillows. Smirking, he settled himself on the bed next to him and slung one leg over his. "That was certainly…unexpected."
The laugh was still half a groan, and Oliver turned, burying his face into Dorian's neck. The mage pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. "Do you want to tell me what all of that meant?"
"Ugh." He replied childishly, and Dorian snorted. "It's tricky. I love my sister more than anything, she's my best friend, and her life at home was never…easy. But she could be watched at home, and taken care of. Out here, with me and the way my life is currently…it's dangerous for any of us, let alone her."
"Why does she need to be taken care of? Verbally she seems more than a match for any of us."
"Verbally the only danger is that she'll get herself attacked for making too many 'sarcastic observations', as she calls them." He retorted, then sighed again.
"Aurelia is sick. The kind of sickness with no cure, no cause, no rhyme or reason. She has these fits. They can happen at any time, in any place, for any reason. Our mother has always been something of a social climber, and having a child that had spontaneous seizures never fit into her image of a daughter. So, she was hidden, and the world was told that the child had been still born. My sister has spent her entire life locked up in our estate, for fear of how her affliction would reflect on the family."
Dorian was quiet. What do you say to something like that? He was a social outcast in his family, but it was by his choice, and he at least had enjoyed a pleasant childhood, before the lustre faded and he saw the reality of his painted life. For her to have never even have had that, to have always been locked away like something shameful, to be hidden. His heart went out to her.
"Well then," He said finally, shifting to give Oliver a proper hug. "This should be an experience for us all."
