Forgot to mention... For those who like a little more smut in their smut, there's an alternate version of Chapter 4 of this fic that I've published as a standalone. It's called Fine Art and you can find it under my username. Rated M.
"And finally," Dorian says, "we have the library." He stands aside, allowing his guests to feast their eyes on this, his favourite room in the villa. Josephine's face lights up, and Leliana raises her eyebrows. Even Madame de Fer looks impressed, though of course she's doing her best to hide it.
Dorian is exceedingly proud of this room, and pleased at the opportunity to show it off, especially after the housewarming fiasco. It's not just that he's presided over the décor with extra care – though he has, naturally. Every chair, table, and candelabrum has been situated just so, with an eye to elegance and comfort. But in truth, the room was beautiful even before Dorian applied his considerable talents. The light is extraordinary, streaming through the butterfly windows and gleaming off polished wood and stone. And there's something inherently peaceful about the way it's situated, giving onto the interior gardens in a way that invites quiet contemplation.
"What a magnificent room," Josephine says. "I'm sure you will pass many pleasant hours here."
"I do love what you've done with the furnishings, my dear," Vivienne says, and then she pauses, allowing the inevitable but to loom dramatically. "But the overall aesthetic is rather austere. The walls are practically bare."
Dorian flashes a tight smile. "Keenly observed. In truth, the room is not quite finished. The Inquisitor and I spent rather a lot of time tussling over the proper organization of the books, with the result that we're a trifle behind schedule on the rest."
Leliana snorts softly. "It's so like the two of you to argue over something like that. Does it really matter?"
"Yes," Vivienne and Dorian say in unison.
"Personally," says Josephine, "I prefer to organize my books according to the colour and texture of the covers."
The very idea makes Dorian vaguely nauseous, but he supposes it would be rude to say so. "The Inquisitor prefers to shelve alphabetically, whereas I insist upon sorting by subject first."
"And who won the argument?" Josephine asks.
"Oh please," Dorian says airily. "The Inquisitor did the only sensible thing and deferred to my superior judgement."
He starts to say more, but just then, voices sound at the far end of the hallway, followed by a march of footsteps, and a moment later a servant appears in the library carrying a crate. He's the first of many, a parade of them arriving with crates of various shapes and sizes.
"What's this?" Dorian asks, more than a hint of apprehension in his voice.
"Inquisitor's orders, my lord," says one of the servants.
He can hear Seth's voice now, and Sera's, and the two of them stroll into the library with Maggie at their heels.
"—a bit elfy, though, innit?" Sera is saying.
"Maybe, but it's traditional. No Dalish hunter would ever go without."
"Would ever go without what, amatus?" Dorian asks, smiling as if his life depended on it.
"Oh, hello," Seth says. "I didn't realize you were all in here. Excellent timing. You can witness the unveiling."
"Unveiling?" Vivienne arches an eyebrow. "How intriguing. And what are we unveiling, my dear?"
"My hunting trophies."
"Your…?" It's all Dorian can manage. His mouth has suddenly gone quite dry.
Seth tilts his head, giving Dorian a curious smile. "We've talked about this, vhen'an." He turns to Vivienne. "Dalish hunters keep trophies from all their proudest kills," he explains, wearing that solemn expression he always gets when discussing matters of Dalish lore. "It's one of our most sacred traditions. A way of honouring the animals that have given their lives and acknowledging the ways we are bound together, hunter and hunted. Each one represents a tale, and we recount them as part of our oral history."
"What a lovely sentiment," says Josephine, smiling her diplomat's smile.
Seth considers the nearest crate, which a servant is busily prying open. "It's been so strange not having them around. It didn't seem quite appropriate to bring them to Skyhold, since it's not really mine. Now that Dorian and I have a place of our own, I can finally reclaim them."
The crate opens with a creak of wood, and the servant yanks out a few fistfuls of straw. Dorian swallows hard as she reaches inside…
Please don't let it be please don't let it be…
But it is. An animal head. Stuffed and glass-eyed and mounted on a slab of polished wood. An august ram, Dorian reckons, but he's feeling a little too lightheaded to be thinking clearly.
"Oh," says Josephine, smiling harder.
Dorian watches in mute horror as another head emerges from a crate. A bronto, of all things, even more hideous in death than it was in life. "Where d'ye want this one, Yer Worship?" the servant asks, hoisting the thing with some difficulty.
"Let's try it on that wall, I think," Seth says, pointing between two bookshelves.
Heads are hatching from their crates all over the room now, like so many horrible little demon spawn. Hyenas and bears, rams and phoenixes. Worse, there's a rattle of wheels in the corridor, like a harbinger of doom, and a moment later a handcart appears with a truly massive crate.
"Oh!" Seth says brightly. "Is that the dragon or the druffalo?"
Vivienne's eyes meet Dorian's, and the mix of horror and pity and sheer malicious glee he sees there is almost too much for him. "I think I'm going to be sick," he murmurs.
"Sorry?" says Seth.
Dorian flutters a hand dismissively, his mind whirring in a state of mild panic as he tries to think of a diplomatic resolution to this crisis.
"It's like a little forest in here now," Sera observes.
"Yes, exactly." Seth sighs contentedly. "It feels more like home already. I think I got the better end of the bargain, really."
"What bargain is that?" Leliana inquires, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement.
"About the organization of the books," Seth says. "I told Dorian he could have his way if he promised to make it up to me."
Was this what he had in mind? Dorian had assumed he meant sexual favours or something. "Now that you mention it," he says, his voice edged with desperation, "alphabetical is a perfectly acceptable means of organizing a library…"
"No, no, don't worry," Seth says, strolling over to the window. Sera joins him, and Leliana, and they chat quietly while the servants continue their work.
Dorian sinks into a chair, watching helplessly as his precious library becomes a museum of the macabre. He does recall Seth mentioning something about hunting trophies, but he'd assumed the elf meant a trinket or two. A bearskin rug, or a necklace made of out claws or something. But this. Heads. On the wall. Those horrid dead eyes staring at him from all directions—
"Have pity, Inquisitor," Leliana laughs. "He can't take much more of this."
Seth is facing the window, but Dorian sees his shoulders start to shake, and a moment later Sera's manic giggle bursts out of her like a flock of startled pigeons. "He looks like he's going to cough up his own innards!" she howls, pointing at Dorian and hugging her ribs.
Seth can't hold it together anymore. He dissolves into laughter, and now Leliana is laughing too, and Josephine, and even Vivienne smirks, shaking her head in admiration. "Well played, Inquisitor," she says. "You quite had me."
Dorian sags over himself in relief. Every time. You fall for it every time… "You are such a bastard," he murmurs into his lap.
Even the servants are snickering now. "What about this one, Your Worship?" one of them calls, holding a quillback head up against the wall. "Looks good here, yeah? Oh, she's a beauty this one." Laughter all around. Seth looks Dorian right in the eye and grins, and that dazzling smile of his is the only thing preventing Dorian from setting him on fire.
"Very droll, Inquisitor," Dorian says tartly.
Seth folds his arms and props himself against the wall. "Well, Sera?"
"All right, that's a proper prank. But I wouldn't get too big for your breeches. Prince Fancybits here is an easy target."
"True enough," the Inquisitor agrees, still grinning even as Dorian approaches him with a scowl that would curdle milk.
"This is about the books, isn't it? This is your revenge."
"No," says Seth.
"Yes," says Dorian.
"Yes," says Seth.
"And now that you've had your fun, just what do you plan to do with all these heads?"
"Sell them back to the merchant, hopefully."
"And if he won't take them back?"
"Then I guess we'll have to keep them. Should we organize them alphabetically, or by subject?"
"Such a bastard," Dorian mutters, and he heads over to the shelves to reorganize the bloody books.