After the first week, Dorian tried to avoid going with Livia to her daily mingling with the Orlesian nobles. Playing at nobility drained and pulled at him, though it wasn't the Game itself that was the problem. He hated the pretensions and backwards talk of high society, it was true, but he knew that if he ever hoped to become a magister and bring about real change in Tevinter, this kind of socializing would be necessary. No, while all of that was tiring, what really wore him down and drove him to drinking many nights was the outright lying. Yes, Livia and I are very happy together. We can't wait to have children and start a family. I'm so lucky to have been paired with a woman so perfect for me. The powerful families of Tevinter were always perfect, of course. Even when they weren't.
As necessary as it was to maintain appearances, and as much as he understood that the double-talk was all part of politics, Dorian felt infinitely better after he was able to regain some sort of normalcy. Aeric had asked him to accompany him on a mission to the Western Approach in Orlais, and Dorian leapt at the chance to leave Livia happily chatting away with her new Orlesian friends and tending to refugees. Three weeks flinging fireballs at Venatori with Aeric and his friends? Dorian could think of nothing he'd rather do.
However, as Aeric had them stop in Val Royeaux to run a few errands, Dorian decided to take care of something he had put off doing for far too long. When they arrived in the city, he meandered the marketplace until he found the shifty masked merchant he remembered from when he had first come south. Ponchard was unmistakable in his yellow-trimmed waistcoat and ridiculously impractical pauldrons. Dorian decided to begin with a diplomatic approach.
"Ponchard de Lieux?" Dorian asked as he approached. "Perhaps you remember me? My name is-"
Ponchard chuckled. The sound reminded Dorian of the coyotes he had heard in the Nevarran hills. "Of course I remember, Monsieur Pavus. The item you sold to me was of incredible value."
Already, Dorian could tell this conversation was not going to go his way. "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I wanted to buy my amulet back." He frowned as Ponchard already began to laugh again. "I have gold now, if you'd like. Or we can come to some other arrangement, if you're not interested in money."
"I apologize," the merchant said, wringing his hands gleefully. "I'm afraid the amulet is not for sale."
Dorian scowled, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean it's not for sale? It's mine. I give you money, you give it back. That's how this 'doing business' thing works."
"Not always, Monsieur." Dorian could not see Ponchard's grin behind the mask, but he could hear it in the weasel's voice. "You see, I know exactly what it is, and you were correct in thinking I would perhaps not want money for it. I need someone with influence. Influence you do not have."
"Then whose influence do you want?" Dorian asked, barely reining in his temper.
"You came into the city with the Inquisitor, did you not?" Ponchard said, sweeping his hand vaguely toward the marketplace. "He has the kind of power and influence I desire."
Dorian shook his head. "Absolutely not. I'll not be indebted to him."
"Surely he would not mind doing this one little favor for a friend."
"I said no," the mage said with a glare.
The shifty merchant shrugged. "Well, if not the Inquisitor, then I've heard your father is staying in the city. I'm sure he would be very interested in regaining your birthright for you."
A chill went up Dorian's spine. "You will not go near him, do you hear me?" he growled. "If my father hears even a whisper of this, I will come after you. And you will regret it."
Ponchard waved his hands dismissively. "Now, now, no need for threats, Monsieur. I am a reasonable man, and I know how to be discreet. Your father won't hear of the amulet from me, so long as there is promise of an arrangement between us."
Dorian glared at the other man. "I will… speak with the Inquisitor," he said, intending to do no such thing. Dorian could figure out how to get the amulet back on his own, without Aeric's help. "But I don't speak for him. I cannot promise he will agree to your terms."
"Yes, yes," Ponchard said, wringing his hands again. "That will be enough to sate me for now. Please rest assured that the amulet is in a safe place. And you need not worry about your father knowing about it from me." The grin was back in his voice. "I look forward to hearing back from you soon."
Dorian backed away from him with a nod, and Ponchard shuffled away through a shadowed alleyway. "Fucking culus…" Dorian muttered under his breath.
As he walked down the boulevard, Dorian was so distracted by his meeting with Ponchard that he wasn't watching where he was going. He bumped shoulders with a man who was walking in front of him. "Apologies," Dorian muttered, looking up. He froze.
It was his father.
Father blinked at him for a moment in mild surprise. "Dorian, I was not expecting to see you here."
"Neither was I," Dorian said, casting a quick glance at the alcove behind him. Ponchard was nowhere to be seen. "We're… we are only in the city to take care of a few trivial affairs and gather supplies on our way to the Western Approach." When his father did not reply, Dorianfelt the need to say something further. "I would have paid you a visit, but we only plan on being in the city for a few hours."
The older man nodded, looking down the boulevard. "It is of no consequence. I would not have been available." He looked over at his son. "I was about to eat. Join me, if you have the time."
Dorian looked up at the sky. There was time, but Aeric would be looking for him soon. "For just a moment. I can't linger."
When they entered the little outdoor restaurant off the main thoroughfare, they were seated immediately, the host having recognized Dorian's father immediately. "Orlesian food is far more palatable than some of the other foreign cuisines," Father said conversationally. "But the flavor is too subtle for my tastes. Elaborate sauces cannot make up for a lack of spices."
Though Dorian agreed, he found his father's casual tone to be strangely off-putting. Father rarely had anything to say that wasn't purposeful. "Was there something you wanted to discuss with me, Father? Or are we really going to talk about the intricacies of Orlesian cuisine?"
Father gave a little smile, and Dorian couldn't help but smile as well upon seeing it. "No, Dorian," his father said. "I only wanted to talk with you, to say how pleased I am with how you have been handling yourself at Skyhold."
"You're pleased?" Dorian asked, a little surprised.
A server poured both of them wine and Father took a sip. "Indeed. I haven't heard a single shred of those old rumors, thank the Maker. More importantly, word has spread about you and Livia. The nobility here cannot stop talking about you."
Dorian grunted. "All about the 'mysterious married magisters'? I'd rather they didn't. Or they could at least come up with a better name for us. Alliteration aside, it's both inaccurate and unimaginative."
"It is progress, Dorian." Father sipped at his wine again and gestured that Dorian should take his glass. "I know you have had your share of obstacles to overcome, and that you had your reservations about the marriage," the older man said. His smile widened. "But you have shown grace under adversity, and I expect it to continue." He raised his glass.
"Livia's only been here for a few weeks, Father," Dorian said, hesitating.
"Nevertheless." Father clinked his glass against his son's. "Well done."
Dorian smiled and took a draw of his wine. It had been a long time since he had heard approval in his father's voice. Despite their disagreements in the past, it felt… right. "Thank you. It means much to me."
"Of course," his father replied with a nod. "I told you it was only a matter of time. You and Livia are getting along nicely so far, and I expect soon you will get over your affliction and start trying for children, if you haven't already."
The blood ran cold in Dorian's veins. "'Affliction'?" he repeated with a cough. "You speak as if I were sick."
Father waved a hand dismissively. "Whatever you wish to call it. With the two of you finally connecting, I do not think it will be a problem anymore."
"Now, hold on," Dorian said, teeth clenching in a rush of annoyance and anger. "It is not an 'affliction'."
"It is a thing that has afflicted your ability to carry out your responsibilities," his father persisted in a low voice. "Thus, it is an affliction. Now please drop the matter. I was trying to be complimentary."
"You're doing a poor job of it," Dorian retorted. Over his father's shoulder, he spotted Aeric, Cassandra, and Cole approaching. "And with that, I gladly take my leave."
He got to his feet in a hurry, not wanting to have to introduce the others to his father. With quick but deliberate steps, he walked to the party and beckoned them to follow. "It's time we were away, yes? Let's not keep the Grey Wardens waiting, then."
Aeric hesitated at the entrance to the restaurant. "Who was that? Was that your father?"
"Yes," Dorian hissed. "But we've just had a bit of an argument and I'm trying to storm off. So if you could please stop ruining the dramatic flair, I would greatly appreciate it."
"Well," Aeric said with a little smirk. "If it's for dramatic flair."
Dorian had to resist the urge to laugh. Very serious storming off.
The others began to follow behind Dorian, Cassandra giving a disgusted grunt as she did so, but they noticed they were once more missing one of their party. Cole had stayed behind, lingering as he watched Dorian's father. A moment later, he ran to catch up with them.
"What was that about?" Dorian asked, both exasperated and curious.
Cole peered up at him from under his wide-brimmed hat. As he spoke, his voice was low enough that Dorian was fairly certain that Aeric and Cassandra couldn't hear. "Ambition enough to light the sky aflame," he said, "blood as old as a hundred generations. Driven. And driving, like with a carriage. But the carriage is only drawn by one horse, and it does not want to go where he bids it." Cole shook his head sadly. "He should have had a spare."
Understanding, Dorian swallowed around a hard lump that had lodged itself in his throat. "They hated each other too much for that," he murmured. "There's just me. No one else can do it."
Cole frowned. "But you are not a horse. He thinks you are, but you aren't."
"What am I, then, Cole?" Dorian asked with a sigh.
Blinking in confusion, Cole looked at him as if he had asked the most obvious question in the world. "You're Dorian."
Dorian gave him a sad smile. "I don't know if that helps. But thank you."
ooo
As they traveled across Orlais, Dorian realized how much he had missed being around Aeric. It had been weeks since they had last spoken for more than minutes at a time, since Dorian had decided that he needed to stay away from Aeric as best he could, for both their sakes. Yet as they fought alongside each other, ate together, talked together again, the old warmth bloomed in Dorian's chest as if it had never left.
One day, soon after their arrival at the deserts of the Western Approach, Dorian noticed the elf watching him as he cast an energy barrage to pummel one of the Venatori. Aeric smiled as their eyes met, his expression unusually soft for being in the middle of battle. Dorian grinned as they dispatched the last of the cultists in tandem, Dorian's flames following Aeric's arrows in glowing arcs in the air. As the flames died out, Aeric set about looting the bodies for anything useful. Dorian drew near to the elf, making sure Cole and Cassandra were not close enough to hear. "Watching me, were you?" he asked smoothly. "Was there something you wanted, or were you just enjoying the show?"
Aeric glanced at Dorian, his mouth quirking up but not quite smiling. "A little of both, actually." He got to his feet, his task finished, and signaled to the others to follow as they made their way towards the rendezvous for their meeting with Hawke and Warden Alistair. "I've noticed you seem… happier out here than in Skyhold."
Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Do I? I can't imagine seeming any happier. I have a winning smile and like to show it often."
"You do, on both counts," Aeric said with a nod. "But I like your real one better."
There was a stillness in Dorian's chest. "My real one?"
Aeric nodded again as he scanned the horizon. "I haven't seen it in a while. I hope you don't mind my saying so, but I'm glad to see it again."
"I don't mind at all," Dorian murmured, and he couldn't help but smile a little. There was so much more he wanted to say, to tell Aeric that he was glad to be in his company again, to talk with him again. But all of it would kindle something Dorian knew he shouldn't.
"I've missed you, you know," Aeric said softly, as if reading his mind. "I know I'm not supposed to say things like that-"
"No, it…" Dorian swallowed. "It's fine."
"Good. You're still my friend, after all. I know you're busy - I am as well - but…" The elf chuckled, a small bittersweet thing. "I talk with Solas about history sometimes, but he's mostly only interested in elvhen lore."
Dorian let out a bark of a laugh. "He is a little redundant, isn't he?"
Aeric smiled. "Yes, a bit."
"Well," Dorian said, "I haven't been a very good friend lately, have I? When we get back, I'll make it up to you. I will make time for you."
Aeric turned away, his face hidden as he stooped to pick some dragonthorn. "It's fine. You don't have to. I don't want to cause trouble for you."
It might indeed cause trouble, Dorian knew. If he wasn't careful, the rumors he had worked so hard to quash would resurface worse than before. But he also knew he wanted Aeric in his life, perhaps as much as Aeric seemed to want it. He didn't want to be friends out in the field, only to pretend to be strangers back at Skyhold. Even if they couldn't be together as much as either of them would like, even if they still had to be cautious, he would take the risk. Aeric was worth it. Dorian reached out, touching the other man's shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. "You are my friend, Aeric," he said fiercely. "I will make time."
"Thank you. Truly, it means a lot to me." Aeric gazed up at him with an expression Dorian could not name. Maker, but the elf's eyes were so blue, like polished lapis lazuli. "Is everything all right?" Aeric asked as he straightened, his brow furrowed. "Back at Skyhold, I mean."
Dorian shrugged. "Of course it is," he said nonchalantly. "Mingling with nobility again is a tad exhausting, but that's part of the price of being born into it, I suppose." He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
"And there it is," Aeric said, his eyes turning sad. "That's the wrong one." He paused and pointed to a hill a ways north from where they were. "I'm going to go scout ahead."
Nodding, Dorian watched him go, his heartbeat quickening as it had weeks ago when he last talked with Aeric under his tree. How many people did Dorian talk to each day at Skyhold? How many of his friends sat with him, laughed with him, drank with him? How was it that Aeric was the only one out of all of them who saw right through him?
It wasn't going away. Whatever feelings he had for the elf, he thought they would be gone by now, or would have at least abated somewhat. But as Dorian watched Aeric running across the shimmering sand, he felt a longing that, if he was honest with himself, he had endured since he began distancing himself from the other man. Since the meeting with his father. It had been over two months since then, and still he missed Aeric. Really and truly missed him. Shouldn't he be ready to move on now?
