My dear Amatus,
I cannot stop thinking about you. I thought it would get better after a few weeks, after I got used to your absence. Yet, here we are, months later. And if anything, it's only getting worse. It's maddening. If it were only at night, I would not mind so much. Instead, it's happening at all hours of the day. First thing in the morning. When my mind wanders as I'm reading. In the middle of a fancy dinner with Magister Aquila. That last one was especially awkward. Luckily, Aquila is a woman who takes little notice of anything not directly related to her, otherwise she might have seen that my discomfort had nothing to do with the quality of her dining chairs.
I must say, I am a little disappointed at the lack of naughty letters thus far. I suppose I'll have to start then, but I will have you know that I expect something equally lascivious when I hear from you next.
I long for you. Inside me, around me. However I can have you, I want it. I imagine you standing above me, naked but for the moonlight, and… Maker, you are so glorious. Even merely writing it drives me to madness, and it is not long before I am daydreaming of you moving within me, or even simply of my hands on your magnificent round arse. And, oh, the things I could do with that delicious mouth of yours. There is nothing about you that does not excite me, that does not set my heart racing. I ache, both in body and soul, to have you with me again.
Yours,
Dorian
ooo
Aeric should not have read this letter right away.
High in Skyhold's tower, he sat in the rookery, at the table that had once been Leliana's. He often read Dorian's letters there, too eager to have word from him to wait until a more private setting. The tower itself, despite the constant crowing of the birds, felt like a second home to Aeric. Even aside from the books he loved so dearly, the library in the floor below held whispers of memory within it; the cozy windowed alcove with the large, plush chair was especially nostalgic.
Now, however, the tower was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Aeric felt his ears grow hotter with each word of Dorian's letter, and his trousers seemed tighter. Thank the Creators the table was there to hide his lower half from passersby.
Aeric folded the letter with peaceful reverence, to read again later when he was alone in his quarters. For the moment, however, he was a bit trapped. Dorian had been right about trying not to think of something; it really was impossible to get something out of your mind once it was there. He hadn't thought to bring a book, so he sat at the table as he waited for his discomfort to pass, tossing bits of corn to the ravens who had become his lifeline.
When Dorian had left, Aeric had no illusions that it would be difficult. All the letters in the world could never compare to the actual presence of the person you loved. To be able to share a thought or a feeling at a moment's notice. To be able to touch and be touched. Yet, while Aeric knew how hard it would be to be apart from one another, he wasn't prepared for how deeply it affected him. Most nights, he lay awake, unable to keep his mind from finding peace long enough to fall asleep. It wasn't even about sex most of the time, though Aeric found his mind wandering that way often enough. Too often. Too many nights when he was alone with himself and thoughts of Dorian.
No, what was most difficult was the feeling of waiting, of knowing that there was a day - some six months, one week, and three days away - when he would be with Dorian again, and that all the days leading up to it were in anticipation of that moment.
"Josephine said I might find you up here."
Aeric started, so lost in thought he hadn't noticed Cullen come up the stairs. "Commander," he greeted, tossing another pinch of corn to the ravens. "Something I can do for you?"
"Yes," Cullen said, stepping closer. He placed a few papers on the table. "Here is the report regarding our last mission into the Dales. Our troops have cleared out most of the remaining malcontents after the civil war. And, as we discussed in the War Room, I need you to sign this order to send some of our forces to assist the Pentaghasts in Nevarra."
Aeric picked up the report and nodded. "Was that all? Normally you would send a messenger for this sort of thing."
Cullen rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I wanted to ask how you were doing, actually."
"Why?" Aeric asked, brow furrowed as he skimmed the report. "I'm fine."
"Is that so?" Cullen pulled a chair out and sat across from Aeric at the table. "Because you haven't seemed yourself since-"
"Since Dorian left," Aeric finished for him. "So people keep telling me." He had a long talk with Bull about it a few days ago, and last week Blackwall had taken him aside to take out some of his frustration by chopping wood. Aeric almost smiled at the thought. Chopping wood. Dorian would have made a joke about it.
"We are merely concerned, as your friends."
"I know."
Cullen ran a hand through his hair. "If it were only your demeanor during your personal time, we would still be worried of course, but we would leave you with it. But even when it comes to Inquisition matters…"
Aeric raised an eyebrow. "Has the quality of my work been suffering?"
"No, the work still gets done well," Cullen said slowly. "But… it seems your heart isn't in it anymore. Not like before."
Aeric leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. "You know I hate politics, Cullen. And that is largely what my position has become now that Corypheus is gone. I am now a politician."
"I sympathize. I hate the Game as much as you do. All the lies and manipulation…" Cullen shook his head with disgust. "Still, the work we do is important. We keep the peace throughout Southern Thedas now."
Aeric gave a smirk, a mirthless thing. "'Blessed are the peacekeepers, champions of the just'?"
Cullen nodded. "Something like that. The Templar Order came from the first Inquisition, after all."
"And that means what to me?" Aeric asked, unable to keep himself from scowling. "Everyone keeps forgetting I don't believe in Andraste or the Maker. They may all call me the Herald of Andraste, but that does not make it so."
Cullen's eyes narrowed in consternation, and Aeric sighed. Cullen believed Aeric was the sent by the Maker, he knew. That Andraste's Herald was a Dalish elf who barely believed in his own gods, much less in the Maker, had to have been confusing.
"I apologize," Aeric said. A raven landed nearby, looking for more corn. He idly tossed it a few kernels. "My sister always used to say that I lacked tact."
"No, you can be frank with me," Cullen told him, his expression softening. "We could stand to be more sensitive about your difference of belief." He looked at Aeric curiously then, his head cocked to one side. "Is that what it is, then? Why you don't seem to care as you did?"
"Perhaps."
There was more to it, and Aeric knew that Cullen could tell, perceptive as he was. The former templar waited patiently as Aeric gathered his thoughts.
"Have you ever been in love, Cullen?"
Cullen's eyes widened; the question was not what he expected. "I… don't know," he began, a slow blush appearing on his cheeks. "There's a young woman amongst the mages. We've been… playing chess."
Aeric smiled. "Is that a euphemism?"
"What?" The blush on Cullen's cheeks quickly migrated to his ears. "No! It's chess. Just chess." His eyes took on a faraway look and a smile crept across his lips. "She cheats at it every time. And I beat her at it just as often. I think… I think she does it to make me laugh." He blinked as if startled, coming back from his reverie. "Her name is Megra."
The name sounded familiar. "Megra… Trevelyan? Isn't she a noble?"
Cullen nodded. "Yes, of noble birth, but she was sent to the Ostwick Circle at a young age."
"And you'd like to do more with her than just play chess?" Aeric asked, amused.
"No! I mean, yes! Well, that is…" Cullen floundered, rubbing the back of his neck again. His face was like a radish now. "Maker's Breath, how did we end up talking about me?"
"I was only curious," Aeric said with a soft chuckle, though the smile that came with it quickly faded. The raven nipped at his sleeve and cawed loudly. He tossed it more corn. "Dorian is the first person I can say with certainty that I've ever been in love with. It's been… amazing."
Cullen smiled and nodded, but said nothing, waiting for him to continue.
Another caw. More corn. "But he's not coming back."
"Wait, what?" Cullen leaned forward in his chair, his face falling into a frown. "I thought you two had an arrangement."
"We do. In a little over six months, he will visit." Aeric folded his hands on the table, letting the raven nip at his fingers. "Visit. A few weeks, or a month maybe. But after that, he has to go back to Tevinter, and it starts all over again." He watched the raven peck at him, not breaking skin, but pinching all the same. "Dorian's not coming back. Not for good."
"I… don't know what to say," Cullen said softly. "I'm sorry."
Aeric shrugged, still watching the raven.
"And you resent the Inquisition for keeping you here?"
"Perhaps a little," Aeric said, finally raising his eyes to meet Cullen's gaze.
"You're no one's prisoner, Aeric." Cullen paused and gave a small smile. "At least, not anymore. You could leave if you wished."
"I know." The elf tossed the raven a few final bits of corn then shooed it away with a wave of his left hand. He looked at the hand, the jagged lines of the Mark calm and un-glowing, like normal scars. "But so long as there are still rifts to close, I cannot abandon you all. I am still needed here."
"Is that why you've been concentrating on the rifts so much lately?" Cullen asked. "Every time you've left Skyhold these past few months, it's almost always to close rifts."
Aeric nodded.
"You could join Dorian after they are gone, then."
"That is my hope."
Cullen watched him for a moment then gave a nod, as if coming to a decision. "Then I will help you. I will talk with Scout Harding, and have her concentrate her efforts on finding any and all remaining rifts across Ferelden and Orlais. The sooner, the better, right?"
Aeric smiled. "Right."
Getting to his feet, Cullen returned the smile. "To work, then. I will speak to her immediately."
As Cullen turned to go, Aeric called after him. "Cullen?"
Cullen looked over his shoulder, his brow raised expectantly.
"Thank you."
With another nod, he headed down the stairs.
Aeric stood as well, gathering the papers and Dorian's letter. "I'll be back with a letter for you tomorrow," he told the birds as he looked around at them. After giving one of them an affectionate stroke on the chest with his finger, he headed down the stairs to retire to his quarters, where he would answer Dorian's letter, in private.
ooo
Ma'nehn, ma sa'lath,
Your last letter has left me weak in the imagining of all that you described. I want it. I want it all. Has it really only been six months since you left here? It feels infinitely longer, and longer still until the year is ended. I long to have you at my side again, to hear your voice, to see your smile. I think that when you return, I will be unable to deny anything you ask of me, I will be so overjoyed. Be sure to take advantage.
I love you. Ma'arlath. Te amo. I have never met anyone as gorgeous as you. Did you know? I fear I might forget. I miss the warmth of your lips on mine, your breath sighing in my ear, the feel of you in my arms. I yearn for your hands on my back, your nails scratching trails down it as I move within you. I want nothing more than to hear your voice urging me onward, harder, faster. But most of all, I merely want you to be the very last thing I see at night before sleep, and the very first thing I see in the morning upon waking. Let me see your disheveled hair at the start of the day, before you've had the chance to run a comb through it. Wake me in the middle of the night with candlelight and a book in your hand and your anger at Genitivi's interpretation of Tevinter in the Blessed Age. These are a seduction for me as much as the perfect curve of your thigh or the firmness of your chest.
To say I miss you would be redundant at this point. Only know that I, too, ache to be with you again, and that you are in my thoughts always.
Love,
Aeric
ooo
Dorian sat at the desk in his bedroom, his heart lodged somewhere in his throat as he read Aeric's letter a second time. His fingers ran over each word, as if the touch of the paper could compensate for the longing in his chest. As he finished, he brought the letter to his lips and kissed it softly.
"You marvelous idiot," he whispered with a sad smile. "This wasn't what I was looking for at all."
