DISCLAIMER :
I will not be paying much attention to the canon storyline, political lectures and all. It'd be a bore to go through the same quests/etc that I'm sure most of us already know and have experienced. Still, I will try to keep basic lore on track.
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A spur-of-the-moment idea.
May or may not be horrid to read.
Lore will definitely be inaccurate at some points; I'm not the most reliable loremaster.
I accept constructive criticism, and correction to false facts.
Prior to this, I had tried to read up on the lore, quests and such...
But I grew lazy and decided to sod it and go off my own way.
No doubt that reading this will kill some of you.
I am more than willing to undergo lessons, though, if you so wish to teach me.
I have noticed most of the stories on this pairing that I have read have quite a number of sexual scenes.
I myself like the emotional aspect of their relationship better.
Of course, it doesn't mean such physical scenarios will be omitted.
So - let's take this slow, shall we?
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"HAS OUR dear Herald always been this dull?" Dorian Pavus gestured half-animatedly to the stoic figure riding upon an equally stoic mount they had somehow acquired along the road. After the depressing fiasco with Alexius and all, he had fortunately been integrated into the Inquisition, and was now a member of their inner circle. At the moment, they were preparing to seal the Breach once and for all.
"You don't know half of it," Varric Tethras, a rather rowdy yet amusing rogue, grunted. "I could even bet Bianca that not even Andraste herself would be able to force him to speak a word."
"Maybe if we pull a little..." Sera, a most imprudent elf, trailed off, just as Cassandra Pentaghast gave her a stern look. Of course, nothing ever halted the elf, and soon enough, she was rambling on again.
"Mm, I could think of more ways than one to pry those lips open and get him to make some sounds..." Iron Bull, a disgustingly horny Qunari was licking his lips. "It would involve a dark corner, some chains and-"
"Enough, please!" Dorrian raised a hand, holding back a shudder. What a queer little group he was stuck in! He gave the object of their conversation another glance. As expected, he continued to ride, all the while upright and stiff.
The Tevinter mage - or Evil Magister - greatly appreciated the Herald's choice to ally with the rebel mages, and generally speaking, everything he had helped him with, no matter the upsetting consequences and whatnot. He even found the elf to be most aesthetically pleasing to take in with the eyes. Yet, he was almost unnervingly silent and reserved; even when both were stuck in a time displacement rift, he barely spoke a word unless out of absolute necessity.
An image of the elf, looking not at all distraught as they stood before the magical time rift that Dorian was opening, flashed in his mind. Dorian blinked, and shook his head to clear off the thought.
"Say, anyone know about the Herald's past flings and all?" Varric suddenly said. "I've just got this brilliant idea for my next book...
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...
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"So, ah-" Dorian resisted rubbing his face. Things were beginning to take an awkward turn. The Herald continued to give him a blank, yet prodding look as he took a delicate sip from his tankard. "Do you wish for me to address you as Ser Holier Than Thou, or...?"
How had things gotten this way, exactly?
Ah, now he remembered. He had been drinking with Blackwall, a thankfully-not-as-quiet warrior, and Sera. He had been most taken aback when they waved him over. He was too used to being ignored and despised. Blackwall had been explaining to him about the Grey Wardens and divulging the barest of his past, when Sera had abruptly suggested pulling a prank on Vivienne, in an attempt to 'cheer that face up'.
"Aren't you upset about the newly-found allegiance, as well?" Blackwall had raised a brow. Sera pulled a face in return.
"Oh, sure," she readily agreed, eyes wide as she scanned the tavern. "But it's so tiring to be upset for long. No fun if you're gloomy, yeah?" she giggled that weird giggle for the hundredth time. The Grey Warden gave the slightest of shrugs, and began to continue conversing with the mage when Sera squealed again.
"I would greatly appreciate it," Dorian grimaced, nearly splashing his ale over himself. "If you offered to learn basic etiquette and social norms."
"Whatever, dress-boy," the female rolled her eyes, grinning widely. The mage was sure she got the idea for that nickname from Iron Bull. "You sit here and be boring till you die. I'm gonna have a little fun with mister over there," she pointed to where the Herald was sitting, quietly conversing with Solas, a massive bookworm and elf scholar.
"And dare to disturb him from his intellectual debate?" Dorian smirked, holding back from spitting out the disgusting brew.
"He's alone, now," the rogue retorted. However, at that moment, the male elf turned to gaze at the trio, black eyes narrowed yet never divulging any sort of emotion. Suddenly wishing to spare the Herald the horrors of Sera's company, and wanting to perhaps strike up a conversation for himself, Dorian got up, grabbed his own mug, and made his way to the watching hunter.
"You spoil all the fun," he heard Sera say, before Blackwall gave a grim chuckle.
"You may address me as that, if you so wish."
Gah, Dorian should have stayed with them. It would have been easier than having to deal with such a situation. Mind you, he was exceptionally good at talking and the like, but it became difficult when you had such a dead audience. Nothing to give you that adrenaline to rally supporters and start a civil war.
"Uh, no, I'd rather just Herald," he replied. It was amazing, that he was able to maintain eye contact. The lifeless stare of the elf resembled that of a Tranquil. As social and charming as he was, he never felt too comfortable around them. Perhaps it was due to the fact that they were fellow mages. At that thought, he nearly reared back as a disturbing, yet very possible thesis hit him.
"Something wrong, Dorian?" the elf blinked. He took another sip. "You seem perturbed."
"Nothing at all," he smoothly covered up. "I'd reckon that Herald itself is a bit off to call you by it. May I be granted the honour of your last name?" There, a quick, non-showy way of priding himself on his upbringing. At that moment, he remembered that elves were slaves in his homeland, and almost bit his tongue.
"Lavellan," his leader replied after a slight pause.
"Lavellan, it is," Dorian nodded, hoping he had not thought of what he had thought.
"Have they been giving you a hard time?"
"Concerned about the Evil Magister, aren't you?" Dorian smiled with teeth. Well, that was a surprise. Fancy him taking the initiative in continuing the conversation. He faltered. "Well, the rest of them seem to like me... enough." He nearly showed his whites at the memory of Varric's, Sera's and Iron Bull's incessant name-calling. Those three seemed to warm up to him pretty quickly, though between Iron Bull and him, there was still a bit of tension. Not sexual tension - Maker forbid if that were to ever happen. Cassandra, Vivienne and the rest refrained from provoking him, though he could tell they remained wary.
"The rest?"
"Ah, well," he shrugged. "I'm used to the treatment they so subtly bestow onto me. What can I say? They don't despise Tevinter for nothing," he clicked his tongue, as not-exactly-fond thoughts came to his head. He mentally shook them off. "I presume you didn't exactly fall into the role of Herald of Andraste with a bed of roses beneath you."
"Before that title, no. After, yes," Lavellan finished the remainder of his drink. He brushed a strand of stray hair from his face, but said no more.
It was a vague answer, though Dorian understood it, anyway.
"You should be celebrating with the rest," Lavellan tilted his head, resembling that of a bird of prey eyeing a potential meal. As blank as it seemed, it did not fail to cause a tendril of desire to grasp Dorian. "I'm not proving to be the most stimulating companion. Why don't you join Varric over there?" he motioned to the far right of the tavern, where the dwarf was laughing loudly with soldiers and several of their group alike. "Or, failing that," here he narrowed his almond-shaped orbs. "Iron Bull?"
"You closed the Breach," Dorian raised an eye, ignoring the inner voice that began to growl hungrily. Despite most elves being lithe and thus smaller in stature than humans, Lavellan was an exception. He was nearly as tall as Dorian, and was extremely toned and muscular, having a bit of good bulk that only amplified his already desirable figure. Dorian thought himself lucky, before snapping back to attention. "I'd prefer to celebrate with the hero himself," he held back from sounding too seductive.
He was a man that had primal needs, and did not resist or think much when attempting to fulfil them. Yet, strangely, he found himself unable to attempt to proceed to further charm the Herald, when he had so easily done so with other men. Why was that?
Maker, you're as stupid as a hart, he admonished himself. He didn't know his sexuality. He frowned – then again, based on past occurrences, that specific factor hadn't exactly stopped him.
He could have sworn the edges of the elf's lips curved upwards. The archer shrugged, and conveyed his humble thanks.
As Lavellan excused himself, under the excuse of needing to speak with someone, Dorian found himself eyeing the back of him as he walked silently off. His well-fitted armour failed to obscure his well-built physique. He watched as the pointy-eared male passed tables where cheering and clapping resounded upon his coming near, as the foul Qunari bellowed and clapped his 'boss' heartily on the back, and as Varric raised a pint in respect.
He truly was exquisite, in body as well as in appearance. Long, willowy hair that was as white as pure snow, an epic jawline...
The whole package, Dorian nodded to himself. He was, without a doubt, drop-dead gorgeous.
He then focussed on the role Lavellan played, and his nose twitched.
He could only pray he would get to see him naked before he did drop dead.
"Hey! Vint!"
Dorian resisted groaning aloud in annoyance, as the Iron Bull approached and seated himself on Lavellan's spot. The Qunari took a deep gulp of the ale, and smiled widely at the unmoved mage. "The night is still young! Don't tell me you're tired, already!" he guffawed. Apparently, drinking was the key to building bridges between the Qunari and Tevinter people. Throwing his head back, he drank more of the ill-tasting liquid. Dorian eyed him in slight shock.
"You are able to bear the taste of that?" he cleared his throat as the seconds went on. It seemed that Bull's pint never seemed to be empty.
"Not as good as what I'm used to," Bull winked. Dorian nearly retched. "But it'll do." He swallowed, and gave a satisfied sigh, causing the sorcerer to draw back slightly from the smell. "So, where's the Boss? Drunk?" he chuckled lowly.
"No, he had other matters to attend to."
"Like what? There's nothing else for him to do – not right now, at least." Bull's eyes suddenly went wide, and Dorian looked at him curiously. "Let me guess – he went to go upstairs with some young lady, eh? Rolling around in the hay?" He slammed a large hand onto the wooden surface, emitting a loud growl. "That sly dog! He should have invited me!"
"What? So you could participate?" Dorian folded his arms, mood slightly spoilt. An old hurt bit at him, and he ferociously subdued it.
"Oh, I have been in threesomes," Bull leaned closer, lowering his voice. "It was pretty rough, you know. I had to grab the-"
"I do not need to hear of your frivolous rendezvous," the Tevinter snapped, allowing some of his annoyance to slip through. Hopefully it would give the infuriating cow a hint.
"What's that I hear? You sound a bit pissed, Vint. I said something to ruffle your dress?"
Dorian's anger flared at the simpleton that was Iron Bull. He opened his mouth to retort, but was beaten to it.
"Oho! You wanna bed the Boss, eh?"
"What? Preposterous!"
"You don't have to hide it, you know. I'd like to thrust myself into him, as well. Pretty thing, eh? Not quite the average elf. Not stick thin like the rest of his people where I could just break him with a flick of my wrist. Imagine him on my bed- No, against the wall - panting and sweaty, as I slid-"
"Urgh! You insufferable, sad excuse of a barbarian!" Dorian got up, refusing to entertain him or the images that had begun to intrude into his own mind any longer. As he left the tavern, he could still hear the boisterous laughter echoing behind.
As silence began to fold in onto him, leaving the warmth and bright lights of the tavern to be consumed, he slowed in his steps.
What if Lavellan had indeed escaped his company to bed some - lucky - maiden? He didn't seem to be the type, though. Still, one could never judge a book by its cover. Dorian paused in his walking, and pondered.
It was no secret to himself that he desired the elven ranger. He desired most of the men he found attractive, after all. Lavellan was no special. So why did the idea of him having intercourse with someone else made him fume, even if it was just a little bit of anger?
Because he reminded you of-
Now, where had that come from? Dorian growled, paying no heed to his own head. He was about to storm the tavern once more, to prove he wasn't at all affected, but then, a soft rustle to his far right caught his attention. Without even thinking, he swiftly hid himself, and watched as Solas and Lavellan stepped into the clearing from one of the village houses. It was a cold night, and both were breathing deeply as they stood on the snow-dusted ground.
For just a split second, Dorian thought the two had slept with each other.
"A much appreciated conversation," Solas gave a small - if not stony - smile. "I must say, it is quite well to be able to share on such topics."
"It is of no consequence," Lavellan raised a hand.
The two began to walk towards the tavern, heads bowed together as they continued to speak softly to one another. Dorian blinked, confused. As they passed his spot, he caught one word.
"...Tranquil," Lavellan had whispered.
Was it true then? Had his suspicions been confirmed?
Dorian felt slightly alarmed, yet strangely interested. All past thoughts were gone now, and his attention was wholly focussed on the current matter at hand.
As a mage, he had great interest in such arts and its theoretical sectors. Curiosity spiked, and feeling once more like a student, he decided to find out more on his own. Such a thing was too attention-seeking to be ignored. Dorian felt a prickle of excitement, as though he was alongside Alexius once more, pondering over the theories of time and whatnot.
The plan to discover the Herald's true identity had now been executed.
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