Chapter 5 – Pity Party

Josephine looked up from her tea and saw the looks crossing the Inquisitor's face. Shock, disappointment, sadness, anger… She was stunned speechless. The ship had already been commissioned to sail from Kirkwall to Tevinter, and then onward to Qarinus. Josephine memorized the date and time, locations, names, and the ship itself: The Stalwart Steed. She was pretty sure Dorian would make some suggestive comment about the ship name, so she kept it off the documents she arranged for him for the time being. Dorian was going home in just a few short –

"Inquisitor?"

Lavellan moved like lightning in a bottle and ran out the door in a flash. Josephine stared at the open door and frowned, pitying Dorian and hoping for the best. "Oh dear…"

The rotunda and the floors above it were lively with chatter. The Inquisitor didn't hesitate to shove her way through the doors, huffing and puffing like an angry bull. She moved like a storm up the stairs, like a force of nature, two or three steps at a time. So suddenly and silent was her approach that Dorian had yet to even notice her. She slid to a stop across the floor from him. He smiled and chatted with one of the other mages, pointing out something in a book they had spread out on the table closest to the bookshelves. "Really, it's a rather simple mistake, but when you combine –"

"How could you not tell me!?" The Inquisitor felt her cheeks burn as her voice rose over the din of conversation. Lavellan couldn't handle another thing, another stab to her wounded heart, more bullshit, and she knew she really should be more peaceable. She was the Inquisitor – not some lovelorn fool, not some crushed little thing desperately clinging to her friends for support. She was supposed to be strong, fearless, deadly. Unfortunately, her mind was singularly focused on Dorian. She was furious. Really, she just wanted to strangle him, or tie him up so he couldn't leave. He wasn't allowed to leave her. He couldn't leave too. It was all too much.

All of the voices died as heads swiveled in her direction. Dorian, to his credit, didn't jump out of his skin despite the very deadly and very angry rogue's sudden appearance. He managed to blink twice, swallow and suppress his initial replies. The mage next to him flinched and was frozen in place, looking like they might just shatter into bits.

Dorian tilted his head and motioned toward the nearest egress, "Inquisitor… I- Shouldn't we discuss this in private?" He looked at his friend with a heavy expression shining in his eyes. He wouldn't want her to embarrass herself, or himself, in front of their captive audience. She had an image to uphold, and he knew it. He was trying to be a courteous gentleman. Well, she was having none of it. She could get away with some bad behavior, she'd earned it. This was not a temper tantrum by a grown woman, not at all. She had everything under control.

Lavellan glared. Those puppy-dog eyes would not work on her; No, they would not. Maybe she should punch him? No, that would be a scene. It was bad enough people thought they were secret lovers. She was about to scream at him when she was keenly aware of the eyes on their not-so-private and not-so-quiet 'conversation'. The hairs on her skin rose and prickled. A picture of Josephine shaking her head came to mind, "Oh Inquisitor, you are a figurehead. What will they all think now? The rumors were troublesome enough but now?" Lavellan wouldn't want Josephine cleaning up her messes, more than she already did. She wrinkled her nose and balled her hands into fists.

Again, he made with the puppy-dog eyes, an expression that made Lavellan's heart squeeze tight in her chest. Dorian let out a deep sigh and looked pained. He was definitely pouting. She stared at him for a heartbeat more.

Damn him!

It was a valiant effort, but she could not resist the draw of his charm. "Fine!" she said gruffly as she stomped forward, snatched his arm, and pulled him quickly along. "Ah, not so rough, the silks!", he sputtered. Whispers began in their wake.

Fenehdis!

Away from prying eyes, she finally stopped and threw his arm down as if the very touch had burned her. "So talk!", she demanded with her eyes clearly sparkling with tears. Dorian made a little grunt as he seemed to carefully inspect his clothing, if only to avoid looking at the expression on her face and those soulful eyes. He knew that look of hers, that heartrending look could easily break a man. He's seen her trying to hide that look for countless days and nights. He hated that the hurt was just piling on top of his dear friend.

"You knew I was leaving-", he started to say with a voice a bit too quiet, straining over emotion, to be considered normal conversation. She sucked in a breath as if he'd punched her. Dorian's brow furrowed and he shook his head. That was probably not the best start if his objective was not to upset her further. He sighed and looked at her finally. She looked on the verge of breaking apart, with doe eyes and it made him want to promise to stay with her forever. He couldn't stay. There was too much at stake.

He stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes with a seriousness that he so rarely showed.

"My dear, I promised I would stay until this business with Corypheus concluded. Then I promised to stay a bit longer…." He said, trying to find the words to fit. He couldn't hurt her like that bastard had. Dorian knew though, he was hurting her now and would hurt her further still.

Lavellan took in a shaky breath as her bottom lip trembled and her eyes were on the verge of spilling their liquid contents down her face. "I thought we had more time." She said with her voice cracking. He swore he heard her whimper.

"My dear, we still have some time yet. You will not be rid of me that easily." He reassured her with a gentle smile. She looked up at him with eyes swimming with tears. With how strongly he felt for her he couldn't understand how Solas could just walk away. Was the man blind?

He'd never met someone like her in his life. She was unique. She was precious. The dam burst and her tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked pitiful. Dorian sucked in a ragged breath and felt like crying too.

She doesn't deserve this.

Dorian wrapped her up in an all-encompassing hug, cradling her against his chest. He kissed the top of her head and let out a deep breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding. They were a pair, to be sure. She complemented him so well. He had always been a misfit, an other. He had never fit in anywhere.

And neither does she.

Lavellan had been a nobody before the Inquisition. She too was just out of place and didn't belong. She'd confided in him about her life before the anchor, before the conclave and the rift in the sky. She was first seen as a burden to her clan as a child, a trouble-maker. As she got older, she was just the strange one. The blasphemer. The one that didn't really believe but went through the motions of their rituals. Her keeper had sent her alone to the conclave. It was not just to spy on the Chantry, to see what was going on with this war among human mages and templars. It was to get rid of her, albeit temporarily. Lavellan had laughed about it, but he had heard the sadness in her voice. She was a 'bad influence' on the children and made them question their past, their people, their everything.

Lavellan provided for the clan. She hunted. She protected. She wasn't particularly valuable to them. They had plenty of hunters, losing one wouldn't affect them much. She had always been following along their footsteps and yet wandering her own path. She was also an other, just like Dorian. Now with her infamy as the Inquisitor and her missing vallaslin she was practically a leper to her people. She couldn't go back to them. Lavellan could never be who they wanted her to be, and if she went as herself well – there would surely be chaos to follow.

The Dalish were proud of her, if by proud one would say happy to enjoy the fruits of her labor but contribute nothing. They would lord her accomplishments as their own, but disavow her missteps.

The Inquisitor was a target to many enemies. The Dalish didn't welcome threats, from outside or within. They also did not want someone who stood out as different. They were a singular community, and an upstart could destroy a clan, maybe destroy their entire way of life just by questioning their greatest held beliefs She had admitted to Dorian that she believed that her people were averse to change. They clung desperately to a culture they didn't know about and were so stuck in the old ways that they couldn't move forward.

Keeper Deshanna had warned Lavellan about sharing her thoughts, her opinions. "Words have power. Even quiet ones could be poison".

Dorian shared his own history and remarked that they were so similar, and yet so different. He had rejected as much of his Tevene life as he could. He rallied against his culture, his heritage, and said he was a rebel. In actuality, he was just a drunk attention-seeking brat. He had to grow up. His father had him kidnapped and tossed into a cell to reconsider his lifestyle choices. That was a wake up call, and yet he didn't heed it. He still ran from his problems instead of facing them. He was a child pretending to be a man. Dorian was tired of running away. It was time to make a stand. A rebel mage, as glorious as he was, couldn't be much of a rebel if he was hiding away across the world from the place he was supposedly rebelling from.

The Inquisitor showed him he was just playing the fool, when he could make real change in the world, back home. If someone was going to start a revolution and change his country for the better, it might as well be him. His father and the rest of those stuck in the past, well they could be damned for all he cared. He'd built something from the ashes if he had to burn it all down.

She had shared her struggles with him. She laughed about how afraid she'd been at Haven after the conclave. Lavellan had been all bold and bluster, but inside she was terrified. What would the humans do to her? She knew what happened to elves, to Dalish elves that were seized by humans. She was afraid of being locked up, and all the implications a pretty little elf might experience as a prisoner. Of course, Dorian was horrified at her confessions.

He felt deeply for her almost immediately. She was kind, caring, and ever the champion for those who needed one. Her sense of humor was dark, but so was his own. He was stubborn and didn't back down from arguments. She was also stubborn, rough around the edges, and prickly at times. They should have been like oil and water, but instead they fit together like two puzzle pieces. In fact, the entire Inquisition was the puzzle that his puzzle piece fit into. They were a group of misfits that he didn't know he needed his whole life. Dorian found love; He found friends that he would never abandon. Now he knew who he was, what he was meant to do. He squeezed her tighter and felt a tear escape his eyes as he buried his head into her wild mane of hair.

Thank you.

They held one another for a few minutes before Dorian spoke into her hair, "Mm… I'm sure this will help the rumors greatly." He smiled as she drew back and looked up at him. Her tears had stopped flowing. Lavellan sniffled and wiped at her eyes as if her wet skin were acid. Dorian let a chuckle escape his lips and stepped back, grasping her by her shoulders once more. "Shall we end this pity party on a high note? Herald's Rest surely has our favorite seats available…"

The Inquisitor laughed through her hands and finally let a smile grace her damp face.

"Fine…but you're paying!" She commented.

"That's my girl." He said with a husky purr.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?", she said with a hand on her hip and a smirk on her lips.

"Well, whatever else should I do with my lips?", he said as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

She laughed again and shoved him.

"Hey – the silks!", he said as if she'd wounded him.