Dorian finds the Inquisitor on the mezzanine, surrounded as ever by grasping nobles. Andraste's arse, can't they leave him in peace for five minutes? Dorian has been waiting all afternoon to catch his amatus alone, their brief encounter earlier having failed entirely to curb the craving gnawing at him. They've been apart for a month, and he's climbing the walls with frustration, but he can't get near the object of his desire. It's as if every painted fop in Orlais has descended on the Winter Palace with the sole mission of cock-blocking the Tevinter ambassador.
Enough. Diplomacy will just have to wait. Shouldering his way through the crowd, Dorian says, "A word, Inquisitor?"
Blue-green eyes meet his, and the message is clear. Help me.
"The Imperium desires a private audience with the Inquisition. We have a few suggestions to slip you. Some penetrating insights."
Seth blinks incredulously, but he plays along. "Sounds like a stimulating conversation."
"Oh, it will be. It only remains to be seen who comes out on top."
"Must it be a competition?"
"We Tevinters like to play rough, as you well know."
Seth tsks in apparent disapproval. "Come now, Ambassador Pavus."
"That's the idea," Dorian murmurs in Seth's ear as he moves to stand beside the Inquisitor, hands folded demurely behind his back.
The nobles take their cue and disperse, leaving Dorian and Seth alone by the railing overlooking the courtyard. "Subtle," Seth observes as he gazes out over the milling bodies. "Even for you."
"Subtlety is overrated. What counts is results, and as you see, I've achieved them most admirably. Now come along, Inquisitor, or I'll be forced to take you against this railing, in plain view of every noble in Orlais."
Seth snorts softly. "Such a romantic. But you'll have to wait a minute longer, I'm afraid. I've promised Divine Victoria a quick word."
"Festis bei umo canavarum." Dorian scowls, gripping the railing with both hands.
"What does that mean, anyway?"
"You will be the death of me."
"No one ever died of sexual frustration."
"There's a first time for everything," Dorian returns tartly.
"I seem to recall a certain mage telling me that a little pent-up frustration was no bad thing."
Dorian glances at his lover, eyes narrowed. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
Seth's mouth quirks. "Maybe a little."
This won't do. It won't do at all. Dorian refuses to be reduced to some slavering beast while his lover stands there cool as you please. If Seth wants to play dirty, Dorian will show him how it's done.
He moves to stand behind the elf, hands resting lightly on his waist. He's not revealing state secrets here; their betrothal is widely known. So long as he doesn't do anything genuinely shocking, no one will bat an eye.
"You are an inveterate tease, Inquisitor," he murmurs, his lips brushing Seth's ear. "But I wonder if you've contemplated the matter fully. Do you recall the last time we were together at the Winter Palace?" It's a rhetorical question. There's no chance Seth has forgotten the fierce, angsty sex they had that night. It still ranks among their greatest hits, and the mere mention of it draws a breathy sigh from the elf's lips. Dorian goes on, pitching his voice in that velveteen purr that always sets his lover's pulse racing. "You were the impatient party then, as I recall. You had a number of suggestions for me, didn't you? Imagine my shock upon hearing that sweet, innocent mouth form such filthy words. It was hard"—his hands slide briefly to the elf's hips—"so hard to imagine how it would come about with the two of us sleeping in separate quarters." Seth's breathing is shallow now, and his colour is up, but he doesn't move, doesn't dare give himself away in front of the entire courtyard. Dorian, however, has no such compunctions, and he steps closer, so that his groin brushes discreetly against the curve of the elf's arse. "But you sorted it out, didn't you? And the next thing I knew you were clawing at me like a wild thing, so hungry you took my breath away. While the entire Orlesian court made toasts to your name, you were calling out my name, over and over. Oh, you were glorious. And when you bit me… Do you have any idea how close I came to losing control? Imagine if I had. Burning down the royal villa would surely qualify as a diplomatic incident."
Seth draws up against the railing, hiding his body's inconvenient reaction to this memory.
Dorian's mouth curls into a smug smile. He tucks his face close, letting the warmth of his breath wash over the elf's neck. "Does it ache, Inquisitor? What a pity there's nothing to be done."
Seth sighs. "I see it now. They've been right about you all along. You are evil."
"I trust your audience with Divine Victoria will be suitably brief," Dorian says airily before abandoning his lover on the mezzanine.
He saunters down the stairs, thinking to drum up a bottle of wine while he waits – though if he's done his job well, he won't have to wait long. Turning, he glances back up to the balcony, but the elf is gone. He's nowhere to be seen, and Dorian's smile fades, a strange melancholy settling over him. You've missed your chance, he thinks, though he's not entirely sure where the thought comes from.
"Not missed but missing," says a voice, and Dorian turns to find Cole standing behind him. The spirit fixes him with that eerily penetrating gaze, his eyes full of compassion. "It hasn't been taken from you, Dorian. You just haven't taken it."
Dorian frowns. Something isn't right, but he can't put his finger on it. I'm dreaming, he realizes. This is a memory. Part of one, at any rate, but he doesn't remember this conversation. "Cole, are you…here? Is this now, in the Fade?"
The spirit cocks his head. "How could now not be now?"
Dorian sighs. He'd almost forgotten how frustrating it can be to try to get any sense out of Cole.
"This hurt," Cole says. "It's yours, but you don't have to keep it. You can choose, Dorian."
"Which hurt? My father? What are we talking about?"
"He's waiting for you." Cole glances back up at the balcony, and Seth is there once more, watching them.
"You've got that backwards," Dorian says irritably. "I'm waiting for him."
"He's there, and you're here, but you could be there. Or he could be here. It won't matter to him. He just doesn't want this." Cole looks up at the balcony and then back to the courtyard, and the distance between them seems vast as an ocean. "This is the hurt."
Dorian growls and rubs his eyes. This conversation is giving him a headache.
"You can choose," Cole says again. "But you should hurry. You're almost out of time."
"What do you mean, out of time? What are you talking about?"
"It was good to see you, Dorian," the spirit says, and he vanishes.
Dorian opened his eyes to find the first fingers of dawn slanting through the windows. Seth still slept peacefully beside him, and waking up to that sight sent a stab of bittersweet longing through Dorian's breast. It was all he could do not to reach out and brush the hair back from Seth's face, but he restrained himself, reaching instead for the bedclothes to take another look at the elf's wound. The rash was unchanged from last night, but the fact that Seth was sleeping on his injured side suggested that it no longer pained him. The danger had clearly passed, and all that remained was for Seth to regain his strength.
Hunger gripped Dorian's insides. He slipped out of bed, Maggie dropping down behind him in anticipation of a walk. The tray of food the servant had brought last night still sat on the sideboard – or so Dorian thought, and he was pleasantly surprised to discover fresh bread, boiled eggs, and a generous helping of bacon, all of it still warm. He ate his fill and treated Maggie to some bacon before returning to his own room, where he found his armour polished and some fresh clothing laid out. He'd say this for Teyrn Cousland: the man had excellent help – though the plain tunic and breeches they'd left him were altogether too Fereldan for Dorian's tastes. Honestly, why must everything in this country come in the approximate shade of shit? Would it kill them to add a splash of colour here and there? There was no help for it, however. His own clothing was covered in blood and Deep Roads filth, in dire need of washing and mending. So he changed and cleaned up and headed outside, finding himself on a gallery overlooking the gardens and the sea beyond.
Castle Cousland commanded an impressive view, and the salt air, though cool, was fresh and bracing. Dorian had almost forgotten what fresh air smelled like, and he closed his eyes, drawing deep. Then Maggie whined, reminding him of his duties. He glanced down at the gardens, trying to work out how to get there, and his gaze fell upon a pair of figures seated on a stone bench. Ellana and Cullen sat shoulder to shoulder, their heads bent in earnest conversation, despite the early hour. Had they been there all night? As Dorian watched, Cullen leaned in and stole a kiss – tentative at first, then rather more enthusiastically as Ellana responded in kind.
Dorian sighed. Oh, Ellana, what are you doing? She was promised to another, a Dalish elf from some faraway clan. Whatever was happening down in that garden had no future and she knew it – though Cullen almost certainly did not. Dorian wanted to be angry with her, but he knew only too well what it was to let your heart run away with you, even when you knew it was doomed from the start.
Lavellans. Walking bombs, the pair of them, and they didn't even know it.
He avoided the gardens altogether, taking Maggie for her walk along the ramparts instead. Just as they were finishing up, he was approached by a servant bearing a stack of letters and a scroll case. "Some correspondence for you, my lord."
"Oh?" Dorian frowned. He'd left Austus with instructions to forward any letters to Val Royeaux, but how they came to be here, he couldn't imagine.
The servant must have sensed his confusion. "Lady Leliana asked me to pass them along," he explained.
Dorian's mouth took a sour turn. Some things never changed. Four years after the Inquisition disbanded, and the Nightingale was still helping herself to his correspondence.
He sifted through the stack without much interest. The usual nonsense from the Magisterium, plus a letter from his mother demanding to know his whereabouts and scolding him for shirking his duties, as though he were a truant schoolboy. Then he opened the scroll case, and a familiar spidery script greeted him. It had been a long time since he'd heard from this particular correspondent – so long, indeed, that she apparently didn't know that he and Seth had broken up.
Magister Pavus,
I trust this finds you well, and in a state of wedded bliss. I enclose a recipe I have recently discovered, which I believe you will find useful. With red lyrium blighting most of Thedas, it seemed prudent to use the wisdom of the Well of Sorrows to develop a cure for its poison, and I am pleased to say I was successful. The formula is surprisingly easy, though the main ingredient is difficult to come by. The powder enclosed herein is dried dragon's blood. The creatures appear to have some natural resistance to the Blight, which is the foundation of this cure. Take good note, however: the blood must be of a high dragon, or the potion will not work.
I have passed the same recipe along to King Alistair – assuming the fool has someone of sense in his court – and to Grand Enchanter Vivienne. I would caution against spreading this information too widely, as it may result in the main ingredient becoming even more difficult to secure. But it seemed wise to have key allies in Tevinter, Orlais, and Ferelden in possession of this formula. Would that I had greater faith in two of the three, but in my Tevinter connection at least, I am confident. See that you do not disappoint me.
Please convey my regards to the Inquisitor, and to his wolf. I trust the two of you are taking good care of her. She is a creature of the wilds, and you must allow her to remember it from time to time.
Yours,
Morrigan
There was no return address. No hint of where she was or what she'd been up to these past few years. Dorian tipped the scroll case, and a small pouch fell into his hand, along with a rolled up bit of parchment containing the recipe itself. He sniffed at the pouch and grimaced, recognizing the foul smell of Vivienne's potion.
Madame de Fer, you disingenuous little fraud. She must not have realized Morrigan had sent the recipe to Dorian as well, and fully intended to take credit for its discovery. Speaking of some things never changing…
Returning to his room, Dorian found a small crowd gathered outside the Inquisitor's door. Fergus Cousland chatted quietly with Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine, while Cullen and Ellana hovered nearby. They exchanged quiet greetings – and then the Grand Enchanter herself emerged, the healer Ashai in tow.
"Well?" Dorian propped himself against the wall, arms folded. "How fares your patient, Grand Enchanter?"
"Much better, my dear. I predict he will be right as rain in a day or two."
"Thank the Maker," Cassandra breathed.
"Excellent news indeed," Dorian said, smiling like the cat who got the cream.
"It's fortunate that I was here," Vivienne said loftily, preening in front of Divine Victoria and the teyrn. "One shudders to think what might have become of the Inquisitor without the benefit of my potion."
Dorian opened his mouth – and closed it with a snap. Disingenuous and grasping she might be, but she'd saved Seth's life, and come to his own rescue besides. He'd let her have this one.
Vivienne's gaze fell to the scroll case in Dorian's hand, and she must have recognized it, because she stiffened.
"I see your correspondence found its way to you, Dorian," Leliana said cheerfully. "Anything interesting?"
"Oh, you know. Magisterial nonsense, letters from disapproving parents, so on and so forth."
"And the pouch?" Leliana gestured at the powder in his hand, her blue eyes sparkling.
"Tea," Dorian said.
"Ah. You must allow me to try it sometime."
"Pray you never need to, Nightingale."
Vivienne cleared her throat. "We should move along, my dears. We don't want to wake the Inquisitor."
"And we have plans to make," Cassandra said. "Aerion Malkar is still out there. I will not let him disappear a second time."
"Enjoy that," Dorian said, shoving himself away from the wall. "I'll keep an eye on our dear Inquisitor." Before anyone could respond, he waved Maggie to his side, slipped back into Seth's room, and promptly locked the door.
Cassandra and the others could plot and plan all they liked, but they would have to do it without the Inquisitor. Seth needed rest, and Dorian was bloody well going to make sure he got it.
As though reading his mind, Maggie hunkered down just inside the door. "Good girl," Dorian murmured, heading for his chair. "And if anyone but Ellana Lavellan comes through that door, bite them."