Dorian is on his way home from the senate when he sees it, and at first he can't believe his eyes. He actually rubs them, blinking hard, but no—it's still there, splashed across the side of a building, two storeys high and ten feet across. A mural, hand painted in vibrant colours, and the subject is decidedly familiar. Dorian raps on the roof of the carriage, bringing it to a juddering halt, and then he presses himself to the window for a better look.

It's beautifully done. The couple is locked in a passionate embrace, eyes closed, mouths sealed together. Bronze fingers twine in silver hair. Pale hands clasp an angular jaw. A serpent coils like rope around their chests, binding them together in the Tevinter symbol of marriage.

The artist has taken some liberties. Seth wears a gold hoop near the point of his ear, and his vallaslin cover half his face. Dorian's nose is a little too dainty, his chin a little too prominent. But it's unmistakably them. Magister Pavus and Inquisitor Lavellan, as imagined by some anonymous stranger. Fidus amor, reads the caption in bright gold letters. True love.

Dorian would be misty-eyed if he weren't so utterly baffled. Who would paint such a thing, and why? Especially since they must have known it would never be allowed to endure. Minrathous revels in the outrageous and the provocative, but this… A twenty-foot mural of two men kissing, a human and an elf, one of them a magister… It's not just shocking, it's seditious. If the artist is ever discovered, they'll probably end up in chains. As for the mural, it won't last the night; frankly, Dorian is surprised it hasn't been defaced already. A small crowd has gathered to gawk at it, but so far, no one looks particularly outraged. Some are even smiling, tilting their heads to admire the artistry.

He wishes Seth could see this. Maybe they could sneak back later tonight, under cover of darkness…

"My lord?" The coachman's uneasy voice jars Dorian back to reality. The crowd is starting to take an interest in the flashy carriage with its magically tinted windows, wondering who's inside. Dorian gives the mural another once-over, doing his best to imprint that glorious image in his mind, and then he tells the coachman to carry on.

His thoughts tumble along with the wheels of the coach. For all the thought he's given to how his marriage would be received—the hand-wringing, the sleepless nights, Maker, the nightmares—he's mostly been concerned about how the powers that be would react. His peers in the Magisterium, and among high society. It's never really occurred to him to wonder how the common people might receive the news. To the extent he's thought about it at all, he assumed the reaction would be unequivocally negative. Bawdy tavern reels, jeering puppet shows, that sort of thing. It certainly never occurred to him that anyone might approve, let alone go to the trouble of painting a twenty-foot mural. What does it mean?

He's still processing as the carriage rolls into the courtyard of the estate. He finds Seth in the gardens, dirt to his elbows, tending his precious seedlings. "Look at this," the elf says, rising from his crouch with a smile. "The wickerwoods are almost knee-high. They'll be ready to transplant soon."

"Transplant?" Dorian echoes dumbly.

"To the public gardens." Seth raises his eyebrows. "Or did you think I was planting a forest in our courtyard?"

"Right, of course, the public gardens." Dorian gives his head a little shake. "Sorry, I'm a bit distracted. On the way home…"

Seth's smile vanishes instantly. They've been on high alert since the attempt on his life at the Patriarchs' Ball, and he immediately assumes the worst. "Something happened?"

"I'm sorry, I should have chosen my words more carefully. Nothing happened—at least, nothing bad. Come, let's get cleaned up and I'll explain." They head to their chambers, and Dorian describes the scene as best he can while they wash up and change for supper. He can hear the note of awe in his voice, as if he still can't quite believe it. "It was the oddest sensation. Seeing that crowd of people, trying to guess what they were thinking… Notoriety is nothing new to us, but this wasn't like anything I've experienced before. I accepted a long time ago that our marriage would make pariahs of us, but this mural… the people looking at it… If I didn't know better, I'd say they were rooting for us."

Seth grins as he wipes his hands on a towel. "Why so surprised? We're irresistible."

"You don't understand, amatus. This is…"

"I know," Seth says more seriously, setting the towel aside. "Don't forget, I've already been through this once. I was sure my people would be furious with me for taking a human lover. And some were, of course, but I was pleasantly surprised by how many others were supportive. Inspired, even."

"Inspired?" Dorian's mouth quirks wryly. "By you, perhaps."

Seth is having none of it. "By us. Take my sister: Ellana would never have considered the possibility that she and Cullen might have a future together if it weren't for us. We blazed the trail, and not just for them. Two members of my clan have already become bonded to humans in Wycome. We showed them what was possible, and we're doing the same here in the Imperium." He closes the distance between them and puts a hand on the back of Dorian's neck. "Right now, at this very moment, someone in this city is reimagining what love looks like because of us. For the first time, they're daring to believe they can be happy."

The words slam into Dorian, and his chest rises with a heady breath. The idea that even one person in his beloved but backwater homeland might see a glimmer of light where there was only darkness, love where there was only a void… "Look at us," he says, his voice shaky. "Changing the world."

"That's what you wanted, isn't it? To change the Imperium from within?" Seth draws their foreheads together, his thumb stroking the back of Dorian's neck. "Real change, the kind the lasts—it doesn't happen in some stuffy senate chamber. It's about winning hearts and minds, just like we did in the Inquisition. That mural is proof that you're doing that, just by being you."

"I wish you could have seen it," Dorian says hoarsely. "It was beautiful, Seth."

"I don't need to see it. I have it right here." He takes Dorian's hand and guides it to the back of his head, and then he clasps Dorian's jaw, just like in the mural. Dorian twines his fingers in Seth's hair, and their mouths crash together.

If those onlookers were inspired by a painting, they ought to get a load of the real thing. Seth's kiss is so fierce that it takes Dorian's breath away—literally, forcing him to break off before he gets too lightheaded. Seth barely lets him fill his lungs before he's kissing Dorian again, walking him steadily backward.

"What happens next?" Seth whispers against his mouth.

"It was hand painted, not magical. No movement, alas."

"I suppose we'll just have to make it up as we go along." His hand dives down the back of Dorian's breeches.

Blood pools south. "I like your thought process so far," Dorian murmurs.

Seth is still walking him backward, steering him toward the window—the very exposed window, its curtains thrown wide to reveal the cityscape beyond. Half of Minrathous can see what those deft fingers are doing with Dorian's laces.

"Amatus. What are you doing?"

"Giving the artist a little inspiration for his next canvas."

Dorian meets those blue-green eyes, and for the life of him, he can't tell if the elf is joking.

He supposes there's only one way to find out. "Lead on," he murmurs, and Seth smiles.