Aldaron stepped out of the tavern and stood in the cool evening air, staring out toward the lake. The fresh air, the light breeze, the smell of the outdoors, already helped calm him down somewhat. It was easier to think outside, not cooped up in some too small room, there wasn't enough space for his thoughts in there.
He wasn't sure if this was a good idea. Getting involved with someone; letting himself feel too deeply.
Back home, back with his Clan, he would not have hesitated to pursue a relationship with someone he liked as much as Dorian. Things were less complicated back then, there were no expectations of him other than helping provide for the Clan. Here everything was complicated. Here he was the Inquisitor and the whole world was relying on him. Saving the world was hard, he shouldn't have any distractions, and Dorian was a distraction. A happy, glorious, beautiful distraction that he wanted so badly it hurt, needed to keep himself from going insane.
The Inquisitor in him said that there was no time for affection and romance and handsome mages with captivating smiles. There were so many things more important than his love life. But the Inquisitor was a symbol, and Aldaron was a person and didn't he deserve to be happy?
His mind kept running around in circles. It was frustrating. And part of him knew that the moment Dorian smiled at him again he would melt, forget about all his doubts and fears and let himself be swept up in it. It was difficult not to. It would probably be easier to push Dorian away now, before things got out of hand. But Aldaron had never been strong enough to do that.
When Dorian woke it was with a pounding head, and aching back, and the sun directly in his eyes. He groaned unhappily and rolled over to bury his face in a pillow that smelled like Ferelden beer and body odor and immediately regretted the decision. He sat up just to get away from that smell, and had to fight down the urge to vomit. You'd think after all these years he would learn how to heal a hangover, but he hadn't. Not for the first time in his life he swore that he would definitely learn that someday.
Miserable, he hunched over, braced his arms on his knees and held his head in his hands, trying to will the pain to go away. That was when he realized he was still fully dressed, and had no memory of leaving the bar.
He still remembered his father, though, unfortunately. But he also remembered Aldaron. Kissing Aldaron. Oh, he was very glad he remembered that. After all those weeks of flirting it was nice to have real confirmation that Aldaron was interested. The Inquisitor could be completely unreadable when he wanted to be. But kissing, that was a pretty undeniable 'yes'. And after he had seen Dorian at his absolute worst, even.
Speaking of their illustrious leader, where was he? And where was Dorian for that matter? Ah, yes, the tavern in Redcliffe. That explained the smell. Very slowly Dorian raised his head and looked around the room. There wasn't much to see, the only furniture in the room was this bed and a single table. By the door his pack and staff leaned against the wall. He wished there were a mirror, because he was quite certain he looked as terrible as he felt. Well, he would make do. He'd gotten good at that during his time with the Inquisition.
Only when his hangover had subsided somewhat and his hair and mustache were as neatly combed as could be did Dorian leave the room in search of his traveling companions. There was only one other door when he stepped into the hallway. It was open and a quick glance inside showed the room to be unoccupied, so he continued downstairs. There were a handful of people in the tavern's common room. Apparently with his father departed they could get back to business as usual, good for them. He spotted the Inquisition scout, their unwilling and completely unnecessary chaperone and bodyguard, seated at a table by the door, and since there was no sign of the Inquisitor he headed for her.
"The Inquisitor is outside," the woman said as he walked up, not taking her attention away from the plate of food in front of her. "He'll want to know you're awake so we can head back to Skyhold."
She still didn't like him. Well that was fine, he didn't need her to. "Thank you, I'll be certain to inform him immediately. Would you be so kind as to order me up a plate of whatever this place passes off as food? And perhaps something for this regrettable hangover?" He offered her his most charming smile (or at least the most charming smile he could manage) when she looked up from her own meal.
The woman stared at him a long moment before she sighed and pushed her chair back, "Very well."
"You have my sincere thanks," Dorian replied, and gave a small bow before heading for the door. Aldaron was the one he wanted to see anyway.
Outside the morning sun was shining, the birds were singing, it was the beginning of a beautiful day and Dorian absolutely hated it. How dare the world be so nice when he had such an awful hangover?
There was, of course, no sign of the Inquisitor. At least not where Dorian would have expected to find him. The elf was up a tree, sitting on a branch and leaning against the trunk while he stared out toward the lake. "What are you doing in a tree?" the man asked, more surprised than he probably would have been without the hangover.
Aldaron startled and looked down at him, black eyes wide. He looked briefly like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I… The view is better from up here."
The view? Dorian turned to look where Aldaron had been staring. He supposed it was pretty enough, if you liked that sort of thing. Dorian was not a big fan of nature in any of its forms, but Aldaron was an elf, after all, and he understood that nature was sort of their thing. When he turned back Aldaron swung his legs over the branch he was sitting on and hopped down to the ground as easily as though he were walking down stairs. "How are you feeling?" the elf asked.
"Like death warmed over, to be perfectly honest," Dorian replied. Now that he was close enough to look at properly (not several feet in the air and half-hidden by foliage), Dorian noticed the dark circles under the Inquisitor's eyes. Had he not slept? Had he been out here all night? Why? Was it something Dorian had done? He wished he could remember more of the night before, if only to know if he should be begging forgiveness.
The look he got from the elf was lined with sympathy, completely unaware of Dorian's swirling internal panic. "Have you eaten?"
"Not as of yet," Dorian said, and clamped down on those feelings. The elf didn't appear to hate him, so he must not have done anything too bad. Maybe he was reading too much into this. He wasn't actually sure he could keep anything down right now, but his stomach was reminding him that he'd had nothing but alcohol for dinner the night before. "Have you? I haven't slept in quite that late, have I?"
"No, you haven't," Aldaron assured him. "Come on, the innkeeper's been at it since sunrise." So Aldaron had been out here for at least that long, it supported Dorian's theory that he hadn't sleep. That was not something he was happy to learn. The Inquisitor got little enough sleep as it was.
"Happy to have his business running again, no doubt," Dorian said. He couldn't believe his father had paid to empty out an entire tavern just to have a conversation with him. Actually no, he could believe that. It probably hadn't even cost very much, Redcliffe didn't look like a terribly expensive place and his father always did have a tendency toward the overdramatic.
He followed Aldaron back inside the tavern and saw that two plates of food had shown up at the scout's table. Dorian's stomach rumbled embarrassingly as he sat down. As soon as he did the scout got up and left, commenting to Aldaron about checking on the horses before disappearing. "I don't think she likes me very much," Dorian commented. He picked up his fork and looked dubiously at the food in front of him. Typical southern fare. He still hadn't gotten used to their habit of overcooking and underseasoning everything. Did the people here not have a sense of taste?
"I'm not sure she likes anyone very much," Aldaron replied thoughtfully. He took a seat beside Dorian and began eating.
"I suppose it is somewhat demeaning to be assigned babysitting duty," Dorian said and took an experimental bite of the food. Just as tasteless as he had expected. Wonderful. "Even if you are the most important person in the world."
"I'm hardly that," Aldaron protested.
"Don't sell yourself short," Dorian insisted. "Herald of Andraste. Magical glowing hand and all that? You're certainly top ten, at least." He wondered how much of this food his stomach could handle at the moment.
"Please don't call me that," Aldaron frowned, pushed his food around his plate.
Dorian looked over and studied his face for a moment. The elf looked troubled, upset even. "What? Herald of Andraste?" he asked. Then he realized why the title might upset him. Elves had other gods, didn't they? "You're not Andrastian, are you?" Really, it should have occurred to him before, but elven culture was not something Dorian had been educated in. Perhaps he should remedy that. Maybe the library had some books. Or he could always ask Solas, but he imagined that would probably be unpleasant for everyone involved.
Aldaron shook his head. "I believe in the gods of my people."
"Of course," Dorian replied. "I shouldn't have assumed."
"It's fine," Aldaron sounded so resigned. Like he had given up trying to protest the title. Maybe he had. Dorian had not heard anyone call him 'Herald' in a while, but that had been the only thing anyone could talk about in Haven. And he could see why Aldaron would not like being declared prophet of a god he did not believe in.
"I'll be sure not to use it again," Dorian promised.
Aldaron looked over at him. Was that expression surprise? It was so hard to tell sometimes. He could see the faintest of smiles pull at the corners of the elf's mouth, though, and that was always something to feel triumphant about.
They left when Dorian felt he was capable of sitting a horse without losing the contents of his stomach. Aldaron was glad to be back on the road again, but he worried about the man. He was putting on a brave face, but looked absolutely miserable when he thought no one was looking. He slumped in his saddle, hung his head, rubbed at his temples, and he was noticeably quieter than usual. Aldaron hadn't realized how much he'd grown used to Dorian's constant whining about the outdoors, but it was strange not to hear it. The state lasted until midday, when Dorian finally began to look a bit more alert, sat up a bit straighter, and commented on the weather. Aldaron was surprisingly relieved.
Because of their rather late departure from Redcliffe the sun was already setting by the time the party arrived back at Skyhold. "Thank the Maker," Dorian breathed a sigh of relief as they rode into the courtyard. "What I wouldn't give for a bath and a proper meal. I feel like I haven't eaten real food in days."
"I take it you're feeling better then?" Aldaron asked. He swung down from his hart, stroking the animal's nose when it butted against his arm.
"You mean, do I feel well enough that I no longer regret my decisions last night and forget all of my oaths to never drink again?" Dorian laughed as he swung down from his own mount.
"I'll take that as a yes," Aldaron couldn't help his smile. It was good to see Dorian back to normal. He had been more concerned than he was willing to admit.
"I am absolutely famished, however," Dorian complained as he handed his horse over to a stable hand to be tended to. "Do you suppose we've missed dinner?"
Dorian was quiet happy to hand all work over to the servants, but Aldaron began unbuckling his hart's saddle himself. He didn't see the need to make other people do something so simple when he had the time to do it himself. "If you hurry you might make the tail end," he replied. "There will probably be something left."
"We're well beyond fashionably late by this point, I'm afraid," Dorian sniffed in disregard. "If we'll have to settle for leftovers anyway there's no point in announcing it to the masses."
Aldaron shrugged and pulled the saddle off entirely. The hart shook itself happily in relief, blanket falling to the ground. Food was food, as far as he was concerned. He didn't understand this shemlen obsession with when and where and how you dined. Josephine was still struggling to get him to hold a knife the way she wanted, and he didn't think he would ever understand why there were so many forks. But if Dorian didn't want to show up in the main hall right now that was perfectly fine, Aldaron preferred eating in privacy anyway. "We'll have to raid the kitchens, then."
"Raid the kitchens?" Dorian asked with amusement in his voice as he watched Aldaron begin to brush down the hart. "How rebellious. Does the Inquisitor do that often? I had no idea."
"Usually when Josephine has the hall full of foreign dignitaries," Aldaron admitted with more than a little embarrassment. He knew that was incredibly irresponsible of him, to avoid his duties like that. But he would probably pick up the wrong fork and embarrass the entire Inquisition, so really it was for the best.
Dorian laughed. "I don't blame you. I would do the same. I've certainly ditched my fair share of fancy dinner parties, much to my mother's dismay."
"Really?" Aldaron asked. "I thought you'd be the sort to enjoy those things."
"To an extent, yes," Dorian replied. "Lots of expensive wine and good food, who wouldn't enjoy that? But the company usually leaves something to be desired, don't you think? Go to a party in Tevinter and it's likely that everyone there hates you, including the person who invited you. Probably you'd hate them all, too, so the only reason to go is for the wine and that maybe someone will be assassinated, which would at least be exciting."
"That's… very morbid," Aldaron said with frown.
The mage shrugged, "One must find entertainment somewhere," he commented. "I do hope that no one gets assassinated at one of your parties, however. I imagine it would make your job rather more difficult."
It certainly would, so Aldaron appreciated the thought. "You can go ahead if you want, you don't have to wait for me," he said.
"And deny you the pleasure of my company?" Dorian grinned when Aldaron blushed faintly, "I'll wait."
Aldaron was nearly done anyway. He finished rubbing down the hart while Dorian watched, feeling a little self-conscious. He didn't usually have an audience. When he finished he patted the animal on the neck and murmured to it softly in Dalish before stepping out of the stall.
"You seem very attached to that creature," Dorian observed, "What is it you call him?"
"Falon," Aldaron replied. "It means friend." He paused outside the stable and glanced back, watching as the hart bowed its head and began eating. "He… reminds me of my clan." It was the first time he had admitted to anyone that he was homesick. Dorian was the only person he felt comfortable admitting that to.
Dorian was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke again his voice was soft and gentle. Sympathetic. "You miss them." It was not a question.
Aldaron turned back to him, his gaze met Dorian's and he knew he wouldn't be able to deny it, didn't want to. "I have never been away this long before," he said quietly. "But I hope to see them again, when this is all over." If he survived this, and it seemed very likely that he would not. But he had to keep hoping.
"I hope you will be able to," Dorian said. "Now come," his voice was suddenly cheerful again, trying to break the somber mood, "I am absolutely starved. Share with me your kitchen raiding expertise."
It did wonders to lift Aldaron's mood and ease the ache of homesickness.
Aldaron and Dorian left the kitchens with the head cook's shouting ringing in their ears, scolded like small children for getting in the way and absconding with only the very best treats. Aldaron was fairly certain they had taken something intended for a visiting noblewoman. Dorian had seemed positively ecstatic when he laid eyes on this particular fare, however, so Aldaron hadn't been able to bring himself to protest.
"That woman is an absolute menace," Dorian whined, nursing a red spot on the back of his hand where he'd been slapped with a wooden spoon. "Fantastic cook, though. Much too good for this place."
"You weren't fast enough," Aldaron replied. She had made several swipes at him as well, but he had managed to dodge all of them.
"I don't think she was trying as hard with you," Dorian complained. "She would get in trouble for hitting the Inquisitor."
"She would not," Aldaron frowned. He would never get angry over something so small. They had been the ones in the wrong, anyway. The woman was perfectly within her rights to scold them, as far as he was concerned.
"Not from you, maybe," Dorian shrugged as they stepped out into the main hall, almost completely emptied out now. There was Varric at his usual table by the fire and a handful of people lingering around, but the tables had been cleared off and the most everyone had gone their separate ways for the evening.
Aldaron himself was looking forward to a proper night's sleep. He was just wondering whether he should invite Dorian to eat with him in private or if that would be too forward. The mage hadn't acted any different than he had before they kissed, and he was not sure how much of that night Dorian actually remembered. However, before he got a chance to voice his thoughts one way or the other. Halfway across the hall he heard a door open and looked over to see Josephine leaving her office, arms full of papers. That was probably a bad sign, he probably should have turned tail and run immediately, but she spotted him too quickly.
"Oh, Inquisitor!" she called, and immediately headed for them. "I'd heard you returned. I take it the trip went well?"
"Yes, it was absolutely marvelous," Dorian answered for him, sarcasm dripping from every word.
Josephine barely spared him a disapproving glance before turning her attention back to the Inquisitor. "I was hoping to find you actually. There are some matters that I believe need your attention."
"This couldn't possibly wait until the morning?" Dorian interrupted, frowning. "We've only just arrived, the poor man hasn't even eaten yet."
"It's alright, Dorian," Aldaron assured him, even if he did want to tell Josephine to leave him alone right now. He was tired and hungry, but he had responsibilities that he had been dodging for the past two days. He knew he had to at least hear her out. It was nice to think that Dorian was looking out for him, however. "I'm sure it won't take very long."
"Only a moment," Josephine promised with a nod of her head. "I only wished to brief you on the most recent reports."
"That's fine," Aldaron said, and held back a weary sigh. It did sound like something that could wait until morning, but he'd given up arguing with Josephine when she got into these moods. The woman never stopped working, from what he had seen, and somehow expected everyone else to do the same. He turned to face Dorian, the man still looked disgruntled and he wasn't sure what to say. "Goodnight, Dorian."
"Goodnight, Inquisitor," the mage replied.
Aldaron searched his face for a moment, looking for any indication of the man's feelings, but Dorian just looked annoyed, and Aldaron wasn't sure if it was at him or at Josephine. So he turned and allowed the ambassador to lead him away.
"Aldaron," Dorian said before they had gone more than a few steps. Aldaron turned around before he could see the look of surprise on Josephine's face at the use of his given name instead of a title. "Do remember to eat some of that," he said, looking pointedly at the plate of food still in the elf's hands. "And try not to work too hard. Remember you are only one person."
Aldaron smiled softly in reply. It was very nice to have someone fret over him for a change, that's what he had liked about Dorian from the start. And knowing now how much Dorian had to worry about already it meant all that much more. "I will," he promised.
Josephine kept Aldaron occupied until he was quite literally nodding off at her desk. He had barely slept the night before, and two days of travel with next to no sleep was finally catching up with him. When she finally released him he staggered up to his quarters and barely managed to undress before collapsing into bed and falling asleep. As a result, the Inquisitor slept later than usual, though he usually woke as soon as the sun peeked in though the many high windows of his rooms, so that was not saying much.
As exhausted as he had been the night before, he was glad the paperwork had been dealt with then, it left him more free time today. He spent that free time checking in on the people he was coming to think of as friends more than just associates or companions in arms. They were more than happy to fill him in on the goings on and the gossip that he had missed while away with Dorian. But two days was not very long and really he had missed very little, certainly nothing important. Everything seemed to be getting along just fine without him. There were probably people who hadn't noticed he was gone at all, or wouldn't have except that it felt like everything he did was announced from the battlements. That was certainly something he could live without.
Aldaron was in the middle of a conversation with Solas – his latest attempt at understanding magic and the fade and this thing on his hand – when raised voices from above caught his attention. There was rarely a loud disturbance in here from anything other than Leliana's crows, so it drew his attention immediately, Solas' too. The voices continued to drift down into the atrium, heated and angry. "That's Dorian," Aldaron said, almost absently. Why was he angry? What was wrong?
"And that Chantry Mother, I believe," Solas added. "She passed through here shortly before you arrived."
Aldaron frowned. That was bad. It was no secret to him how much Mother Giselle distrusted Dorian. Why was she talking to him now when she wouldn't even give Dorian his father's letter in person? What could she possibly have to say that was more important than that? Whatever it was, Dorian sounded upset, and Aldaron felt suddenly protective. "I should go see what the problem is," the Inquisitor said, forcing himself not to sound as agitated as he felt. He had to force himself not to run up the stairs, too, but walk at a reasonable pace, almost casual. It wouldn't do to appear too upset about this, it could be nothing.
He saw them as soon as he could see the top of the stairs. Dorian had his back to the stairwell, but Aldaron could already see that he had his arms crossed across his chest, posture guarded and shoulders tense. He could finally make out what they were saying, but couldn't catch enough to understand the argument.
Mother Giselle spotted him as soon as he reached the top of the stairs and cut herself off before whatever she was going to say next.
"What's going on here?" Aldaron asked. It came out a little harsher than he had intended, a few too many emotions slipping through the Inquisitor's careful facade. But wasn't that always the case where Dorian was involved?
"It seems the revered mother is concerned about my 'undue influence' over you," Dorian answered.
"It is just concern," Mother Giselle interjected before Aldaron could get a word in. "Your Worship, you must know how this looks."
"You might need to spell it out, my dear," Dorian grumbled. And Aldaron was glad for it, because he wasn't entirely certain what the revered mother was talking about.
"This man is of Tevinter. His presence at your side, the rumors alone…" the woman tried to explain, but Aldaron still didn't fully understand.
Was that why she had a problem with him? Because Dorian was Tevinter? Aldaron barely thought about that when he was with Dorian. It didn't seem all that important. Tevinter itself might be a wretched place (certainly seemed like it from the way people talked) but Dorian was a good man. "What's wrong with him being from Tevinter?" he asked. "Specifically?"
"I'm fully aware that not everyone from the Imperium is the same," Mother Giselle began diplomatically.
"How kind of you to notice," Dorian interrupted, clearly annoyed. "And yet still you bow to the opinion of the masses?"
"The opinion of the masses is based on centuries of evidence," the mother said defensively. "What would you have me tell them?"
"The truth?" Dorian suggested.
"The truth is I don't know you," Mother Giselle replied, "And neither do they. Thus these rumors will continue."
Rumors. Aldaron wasn't aware of any rumors, at least not about himself and Dorian. But the revered mother had admitted herself that she did not know Dorian – probably had never tried to know Dorian – and neither did anyone else spouting what he could only assume were lies. Surely anyone who bothered to get to know Dorian would see that he was a good man. Aldaron felt irrationally annoyed, defensive even. Whatever the people were saying was wrong. It didn't matter where Dorian came from, and Aldaron wasn't doing anything wrong by associating with him. "The concerns of the Chantry are no concern of the Inquisition, Mother Giselle," the Inquisitor said sternly.
"I am aware of that," the woman assured. "You risk, however, not only the Chantry's opinion."
If this was a serious issue she should have brought it to him first, not ambushed and accosted Dorian here in the library. This was beginning to look more and more like an extension of some personal grudge. "And if I asked where these rumors originated?" Aldaron struggled to keep his voice level.
"I… see," Mother Giselle backed down almost immediately. That only confirmed Aldaron's suspicions. Had there even been any rumors to start with? Or was she just sticking her nose where it didn't belong, as usual? "I meant no disrespect, Inquisitor, only to ask after this man's intentions," she was quick to try and placate the situation, but Aldaron did not think it sincere. "If you feel he is without ulterior motive, then I humbly beg forgiveness of you both." She bowed her head respectfully and took her leave. Aldaron did not trust himself to say anything civil in farewell, so he remained silent.
"Well, that's something," Dorian mused from his side, watching the woman walk away.
Aldaron turned to him immediately, still feeling that surge of protectiveness in his chest. "She didn't get to you, did she?"
"No, it takes more to get to me than thinly veiled accusations," the man was quick to assure him.
"Do you think she'll do anything?" Aldaron asked. He did not know her well, nor did he know if Chantry priests had a habit of meddling in everyone else's affairs. But if she had started any rumors, or was about to, he would rather it be dealt with now.
"Do what?" Dorian turned toward him fully, "Yours is the good opinion I care about, not hers. It does make me wonder. Is my influence over you… undue?"
Undue? Aldaron wasn't even certain what that meant. It sounded bad, though. And Dorian, while distracting, had never seemed like a bad influence. He didn't influence the Inquisitor's decisions any more or less than anyone else that Aldaron spent time with. "No, not undue at all."
"Overdue, then?" Dorian asked with a small smirk that had all of Aldaron's anger fading away in an instant to be replaced by a swarm of butterflies in his stomach. The man chuckled softly, either at his own joke or at Aldaron's reaction he wasn't sure. "I tease you too much, I know."
"I… probably deserve it," Aldaron admitted, because that seemed the least embarrassing way to say that he liked it.
"I'll have to find something we can do that doesn't involve teasing. Soon, preferably." That smirk was not going away, and now Dorian's voice was low, like it had been after they kissed in the tavern, and again it made Aldaron's brain stop working. He wanted to kiss him again. And from the look on Dorian's face, the man knew exactly what effect his words had on the Inquisitor. The man laughed softly and took a step back, which thankfully allowed Aldaron to try and collect himself again. "I imagine you have important Inquisitor business that I am interrupting," he commented. Aldaron could not tell if he was bothered by that or not.
Intervening in the argument had interrupted his conversation with Solas, but that hadn't seemed to be going anywhere to begin with. "I'm free until midday. If… you would like to do something?" he asked hesitantly, hopefully.
Dorian's eyebrows raised and he looked at Aldaron with something akin to pleasant surprise. "Did you have anything in mind?"
"Not… particularly," Aldaron admitted. "If you're busy…"
"Too busy to spend time with you? Perish the thought," Dorian smiled. "A game of cards will have to do, then. Or chess if you'd prefer?"
"I don't know how to play either," Aldaron replied, and felt embarrassed. He'd seen people playing cards in the tavern, been invited to a game or two by Varric or The Iron Bull, but always refused. He didn't want to admit that he didn't know how to play.
"What a terribly dull life you must have lead before this," Dorian chuckled. "I'll just have to teach you, then. Come, it'll be fun."