Note:

A letter from Dorian's family spells trouble, but also brings the flamboyant mage and the charming Inquisitor closer together. Two conversations: one before going to Redcliffe, the other after the meeting. Only subtle romantic tones as of yet - Dorian and the Inquisitor deserve better than a peck on the go without pomp or ceremony!

Chapter 2 – Family and Blood Magic

It took two damn days before Dorian truly saw the Inquisitor again. Everyone really did want a piece of Liam, and while Dorian knew he had no claim on the man's time, it was grating nonetheless. All the more, Dorian felt surprised when, sitting in an armchair in the library, studying an ancient elven tome he had found, he noticed the lovely Inquisitor's voice around the corner. Liam spoke in hushed whispers, and Enchanter Fiona replied, though sadly, Dorian could not understand half of what was being said. He rose to put the tome away, and when he turned away from the bookshelf, he noticed that Liam had all but snuck up on him, catching him off guard.

"Pavus?"

Dorian arched an eyebrow in feigned annoyance, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. "Inquisitor Trevelyan, skulking about in a library? How very unbecoming of someone of your stature. One might think you've picked up some... Tevinter habits."

"Skulking? That's not what I would call it. And certainly, your homeland has no monopoly on unbecoming habits," Liam replied, raising an eyebrow. "Guess again."

The mage took a moment to study Liam, noting the familiar, playful smirk creeping on his face. "Well, if I had to guess, you're here on business rather than to surprise me," Dorian continued, adopting a dramatic pose, one hand over his heart, "Which is truly a shame. My day could've used a bit more... excitement."

"Could it, now?" Liam asked, sounding amused.

"Oh, it very well could." Gesturing towards the tome he had just placed on the shelf, Dorian added, "But if you're here to immerse yourself in the enthralling world of ancient Elvish literature, I must warn you, it's dreadfully dry. Even for my refined tastes." He took a step closer, reducing the distance between them, his voice low and teasing, "Or perhaps there's something else you need, Inquisitor?"

The Inquisitor took a step back and closed the door behind himself, effectively barring the rest of the world from this little reading room. For a moment, Dorian hoped that all his secret dreams had come true, but when Liam turned around, his face stern, Dorian knew that that was not what was happening.

"I need to speak to you," the Inquisitor said, his voice stern, almost commanding. "About a letter." He made a pause to take a deep breath.

Dorian's playful demeanour instantly shifted to one of concern. The flirtatious glint in his eyes vanished, replaced with genuine worry. It wasn't often he saw the Inquisitor in such a mood, and the mention of a letter only piqued his curiosity further. Memories of correspondence, most of it unwanted, from Tevinter raced through his mind. Could one of those letters have found its way into the Inquisitor's hands?

"Ah," he began, trying to maintain his usual charm but his voice held a hint of anxiety. "Letters tend to be quite the pesky thing, especially if they end up in the wrong hands. To which letter are you referring?" He paused, his eyes carefully studying Liam's expression. "If this is about anything from Tevinter, you should know that I receive a rather colourful array of messages. Some from friends, others... less so."

The Inquisitor frowned. His eyes darted away from Dorian, towards the window, and then back again. "This... whole situation is somewhat messy, and I know I am prying into matters that are none of my business, but it has been brought to my attention, and I can't ignore it," he said apologetically. "Mother Giselle received a letter. From your parents."

He inhaled sharply, mostly likely waiting for Dorian to overreact in some sort of way - and in truth, the thought of Dorian's parents, especially his father, stung. Dorian felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room. His usually confident posture shifted ever so slightly, shoulders tightening, as he tried to process what Liam had just said. It was a name, a past, a part of him that he had tried to leave behind in Tevinter. But as it so often did, the past had a way of catching up with you.

For a few heartbeats, silence reigned, the weight of Liam's revelation settling heavily between them. Dorian's mind raced. Why would his parents send a letter to Mother Giselle? And why, of all people, was the Inquisitor involved?

Finally, gathering his composure, Dorian replied with a mirthless chuckle, "Ah, the illustrious Pavus family correspondence. I must admit, I wasn't expecting to hear of it here in the south." His gaze met Liam's earnest eyes, "I appreciate your concern, Inquisitor. But my family affairs are... complicated, to say the least."

"I would never have asked if Mother Giselle had not…" Liam began, but Dorian's waving hands cut him short.

"Save that breath." Dorian sighed, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it. "So, what does this letter entail? Is there a grand summons for the prodigal son to return to the mighty Tevinter Imperium? Or perhaps just another attempt at mending a bridge they burned themselves?" His tone was sarcastic, but beneath the veneer of humour, the pain was palpable.

"The latter, I suppose," Liam said tentatively. "They are sending a representative to Redcliffe to meet with you, and they're asking Mother Giselle - or rather, me - to lure you there under some pretence."

Dorian's eyes widened, the revelation catching him off guard. He slowly walked to one of the library's large windows, gazing out at the vast landscape beyond. The invitation, or rather the manipulation, was so like his family. But the openness of the Inquisitor was unexpected. Endearing, even.

After a pause, Dorian turned to face Liam, his usual flamboyance replaced with a touch of vulnerability. "I see. It's amusing, isn't it? How far the mighty Pavus family will go, wrapping their plots in the guise of reconciliation." His gaze met Liam's. "Thank you for your candour, Inquisitor. Not many would have been forthright about such a scheme." He smiled wryly, "Though, I'm quite flattered they think I can be 'lured' so easily."

"Can you, then?" Liam asked simply.

Running a hand through his hair, Dorian pondered for a moment. "I must admit, the prospect of facing my family again is... daunting. But perhaps it's time. Perhaps it's time to confront the ghosts of my past, and finally put them to rest." He sighed, stepping closer to Liam, "But I won't be lured or manipulated into it. If I go, it'll be on my terms, and only in good company."

"You don't have to bring me just because they asked, or because I'm the Inquisitor, or whatever," Liam said apologetically. "You don't have to go at all. I just didn't think it was right to lie to you about this. Not when we've been stuck in time together. I'd be dead if not for you." His tone was so sincere now that it made Dorian shiver.

The mage looked at Liam, his dark eyes reflecting both appreciation and a hint of sadness. "You give me too much credit, Inquisitor. While I might have had a hand in it, it's your tenacity and determination that saw us through," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. He paused, his playfulness fading into seriousness. "However, your forthrightness is... refreshing, and not something I'm accustomed to." Dorian walked away a few steps, his fingers skimming the spines of the books on the shelves as he collected his thoughts. "You see, in Tevinter, deceit is as common as the air we breathe. So, your honesty, while unexpected, is not unappreciated."

"You're welcome," Liam replied, smiling gently. "So, what will you do?

Turning back to Liam, Dorian hesitated briefly. "I won't pretend that the idea of seeing my family again doesn't terrify me. The ghosts of my past, my family's expectations, the weight of it all... it's suffocating. But maybe, just maybe, if I had someone by my side, someone like you," he paused, choosing his words carefully, "it might be bearable." He smirked, looking the Inquisitor up and down, and added, "But only if you promise not to wear those dreadful Ferelden boots. They're an eyesore, and I have a reputation to uphold."

Liam's face turned into a beautiful grin. "Careful, Pavus. I'm your friend, not your dress up doll," he scoffed, but at the same time admitted to something that Dorian had not heard in a long time - anyone truly considering themselves his friend. "The boots stay. They're practical. And if your family's emissary isn't impressed, well frankly, I don't give a damn." Liam crossed his arms in front of his chest in defiance.

Dorian laughed softly, a genuine, light-hearted chuckle. "My dear Inquisitor, I have a sneaking suspicion that if you were to wear a potato sack, you'd somehow make it a statement of fashion. But your boots? I'm afraid they are beyond salvation," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He then took a step closer, meeting Liam's gaze with unwavering intensity. "But jests aside, your willingness to stand with me speaks volumes. Friendship is a term thrown around too casually in the Imperium. It's often riddled with conditions, expectations, and sometimes, even betrayal. To have you declare it so freely, without strings attached... It's both foreign and comforting."

"So, we're going to Redcliffe then?" The Inquisitor asked, uncrossing his arms.

"You are going. I'd prefer riding, or better yet, a litter. Do we have one?" Dorian then grinned playfully, striking a mock pose of contemplation. "Now, if only we could do something about your hair. While we're discussing matters of style, that is."

"My hair?" Liam frowned playfully. "Not all of us can afford to spend an hour in front of a mirror in the morning. And besides, if I went for the same look as you, all the ladies would go for the original, and not the poor copy." He smiled at his own tease and ran a hand through his messy hair. "We leave the day after tomorrow. That is, if you wish to go to Redcliffe, and if you can suffer me in my boots and with my tousled hair. And with no litter, woe me."

"Oh, Ser Trevelyan," Dorian drawled, leaning in conspiratorially, "you have no idea how much suffering I've endured already due to fashion infractions around here." He waved his hand dismissively, casting a teasing glance at Liam's boots. "I suppose I can endure just a smidgen more."

Liam let out a painful, wheezing sound that was clearly not meant in earnest. Dorian smiled, but then straightened up, his demeanour turning more serious.

"But truly, Inquisitor... I appreciate you being upfront about the whole situation. It speaks volumes about your character. And Redcliffe? With you? I can't think of a better... or more tolerable... companion." Dorian's smirk returned as he added, "Besides, with your hair being such a mess, I'm sure to be the more dazzling figure between the two of us. We can't have you outshining me, now can we?"

"I wouldn't dare to outshine a scion of House Pavus," Liam shot back, nodding theatrically. "Back to your studies, then. I bet Sister Nightingale is already searching for me. Ah... who am I kidding, she always knows where I am." He chuckled and stepped back towards the door, but before he opened it, he looked at Dorian with his piercing blue eyes. "But you know what? 'A tolerable companion' - that's the most charming compliment I've gotten in a long time," he teased smugly. "Do you think I could get that engraved on my tombstone when I die?"

Dorian tilted his head, feigning deep thought. "Hmm, 'A tolerable companion'? It's got a certain ring to it," he said, holding a finger to his chin. "But might I suggest something with a tad more flair? How about 'Liam Trevelyan: The Inquisitor Who Thought It Was A Bright Idea To Tackle A Monstrous Dragon On His Own'?" He winked. Then, with a twirl of his hand, he continued, "And while you're considering epitaphs, might I recommend mine? 'Dorian Pavus: Impeccably Dressed Until The Very End'. That sounds quite fitting, wouldn't you agree? But, dear Inquisitor, don't rush to the graveyards just yet. There are still far too many adventures to be had and, more importantly, too many terrible boots left in Thedas for me to critique."

Liam rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. "Get over the boots," he chided Dorian playfully, "we leave for Redcliffe as soon as I'm done with Lady Montilyet's most pressing tasks. No more discussion."

The meeting in Redcliffe went... not too well. Instead of an emissary, Dorian's father himself showed up, trying to apologize for the inexcusable, and exposing Dorian's past and romantic predilections to the Inquisitor at the same time. Liam, of course, was perfectly supportive and charming, encouraging Dorian to at least hear his father out before deciding to leave. Dorian still felt angry and hurt and betrayed by his father, who had tried to use blood magic to make his son marry the girl chosen for him instead of letting him be who he was.

Dorian's mind was hazy, and for once he spoke little, retreating from everyone that night, even Liam. The next day was spent travelling through the Hinterlands back towards Skyhold, and Liam had to close another rift. At least there was some comfort in fighting side by side, even if, in hindsight, the thought of closing a tear in the fabric of reality being preferable to your own thoughts was quite troublesome. Anything but talking about the elephant in the metaphorical room – a rare thing for Dorian Pavus, but he did prefer the silence that day. But by the evening, they had made it to the camp by the lake, and Dorian came to realize it was unjust shutting out a friend who was just trying to help. Especially if said friend was being very gentlemanly while still scraping off remnants of demonic goo from his boots, sitting on a log by the lake on his own.

Drawing a deep breath to steel himself, Dorian slowly approached Liam. The setting sun cast the landscape in a warm golden hue, the reflections dancing on the water. Taking a seat beside the Inquisitor, he chose to break the silence with a touch of humour.

"Cleaning those dreadful boots again? Maybe if you'd chosen a more impeccable pair to start with, they'd repel the demonic residue better," Dorian quipped with a wry smile, trying to lighten the mood.

Liam only looked up from his work briefly, a frown on his face, but no words on his lips. That turned Dorian's demeanour more sincere.

"Inquisitor,... I've been rather... well, insufferable. And that's not due to your actions. If anything, you've been nothing but supportive, and I can't thank you enough for that." Dorian turned to look out over the lake, his eyes reflecting a mix of pain and gratitude. "It's just... confronting my past, especially with my father, is like reopening old wounds. But, shutting you out? That was the wrong thing to do. I apologize."

The Inquisitor nodded at that, but said nothing. The blue gaze of his eyes seemed to pierce into Dorian, who could no longer avoid to meet it. Drawing another deep breath, he looked at the sapphire stare that Liam unwittingly wielded like a weapon.

"I value our friendship, Inquisitor. More than I've cared to admit, perhaps. So, please accept my apologies and let's move forward. Preferably with you in better footwear." The corner of Dorian's mouth quirked up in a smirk, the mood once again a tad lighter.

The Inquisitor waited for quite a while before replying, making Dorian feel anxious. "How are you?" He just asked, his tone disarmingly blunt.

Dorian hesitated for a moment, taken aback by the simplicity of the question. His usual façade of wit and charm momentarily crumbled, exposing the raw vulnerability underneath. "How am I?" he echoed softly, his gaze drifting back to the shimmering water, reflecting the silhouettes of the mountains and the dwindling light. For a fleeting moment, he seemed to be searching for the right words, for some clever retort to deflect the weight of the question. But none came. "Truthfully? I feel... exposed. Naked, even. And not in the usual enjoyable way." Dorian attempted a faint smirk, but it quickly faded. "It's a kind of pain that's hard to describe. It's like a festering wound that you think has healed but then suddenly gets ripped open." Swallowing hard, he continued, "To have your own family – your father – try to... reshape you using blood magic? It's a betrayal that cuts deep. It's a reminder of all the reasons I left Tevinter, all the reasons I sought to forge my own path." A heavy sigh escaped Dorian's lips. "But, I suppose, what hurts the most is not the past actions, but the stark reminder that the pain from it still lingers, still has a hold on me. Even after all this time."

Turning to face Liam, his brown eyes, usually bright with mischief, now shimmered with unshed tears. "But I've learned that wounds, no matter how deep, can heal. It just takes time. And perhaps, a few good friends along the way," he added, attempting a genuine, if subdued, smile.

Liam's eyes took up that smile, but his mouth didn't move accordingly, betraying his own inner turmoil. "Can blood magic actually do that? What he wanted to do, I mean?" He asked, trying not to sound offensive.

Dorian took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. It wasn't every day he opened up about such personal matters, but with Liam's earnest gaze fixed on him, seeking understanding, Dorian felt a rare urge to be transparent.

"Family and blood magic rarely ever mix well," he began with a resigned sigh. "That type of magic is a dark and powerful tool, Inquisitor. When wielded properly, its limits are... frighteningly vast. What my father hoped to achieve with it was to... alter my memories, my inclinations, to bend me to his will. Make me more 'compliant' with the expectations of a son of House Pavus." He paused momentarily, catching a glimmer of the setting sun in the water, its beauty starkly contrasting the grim topic at hand. "You see, in Tevinter, lineage and legacy are everything. And I, with my... preferences," he emphasized the word, glancing at Liam meaningfully, "was not exactly delivering on that front. It's not just about love or personal feelings; it's about power, politics, alliances. You know my father had arranged a marriage for me, with a 'suitable' woman. A politically advantageous match. But to me, it would've been a life sentence of misery."

"Yes, we spoke about it at Haven. But you didn't make it sound like something one would use forbidden magic about," Liam's voice interrupted Dorian's explanation.

The mage sighed. His eyes grew distant as he recollected the past. "I refused to be someone's pawn, to be trapped in a loveless marriage, suffocating with each passing day. But more than anything, I refused to be someone I wasn't. My father, blinded by his ambitions and the societal norms of Tevinter, could not fathom why I would choose my soul over tradition. That's when he resorted to such drastic measures." He met Liam's eyes again, a touch of defiance returning to his voice. "But yes, to answer your question, with blood magic, my father believed he could 'correct' me. Make me forget who I truly was. Thankfully, I escaped before he could follow through with his plan."

Liam gulped. "That is… horrible beyond words."

Dorian's gaze softened as he looked at Liam. "It's a pain I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. But it's also a part of who I am. It's the reason I value my freedom, my mind, so fiercely. And the reason I am here, with you and the Inquisition, fighting for a world where everyone can be true to themselves."

"I'm glad you're with us," Liam then replied, his warm voice almost soft. "And grateful you're trusting me with this. Not many people would do that." He smiled briefly, and then slowly rose from the log. "When you've decided how to deal with your father's wish for you to write to him, or when you need someone to talk, or just drink yourself into a stupor with... well, I would offer. And you know that you have to get my lovely advisors off my back to get some time out of me. Lady Montilyet is very demanding." He smirked, looking down at Dorian. "You can still do that, can't you? Flirt with the ladies, I mean."

Dorian chuckled, rolling his eyes with a playful exasperation. "You wound me, Inquisitor. I can charm just about anyone if I put my mind to it." He raised an eyebrow, his smirk teasing. "But when it comes to 'flirting with the ladies' as you so eloquently put it, let's just say... I'm selective about where I invest my considerable talents." He leaned back slightly, casting a mock-appraising look at Liam. "And as for you, my dear Inquisitor, you seem to be under the impression that my schedule revolves solely around you and your pressing Inquisition duties. Though if you need a hand batting off those pesky advisors of yours, give me a shout. They won't stand a chance."

"I'll take you up on that offer. Soon," Liam promised with a smile.

"You would now leave me seriously disappointed if you didn't." Pausing for a beat, Dorian's tone turned genuine, "Thank you, Inquisitor. It means more than you might realize, knowing I have an ally in you. To unexpected friends?"

He raised an imaginary cup in a mock toast. The Inquisitor, misunderstanding the gesture, took Dorian's hand and pulled him to his feet, causing Dorian to almost stumble into the Inquisitor's arms.

"You don't have to do it, you know," Liam said as they found their footing again. "Dallying with the ladies. If you're not into that, then just don't. Anyone who complains, you just refer to me." He smiled in a way that could make anyone's heart melt. "Just, um, don't try to flirt with the Commander. Not even for my sake. That's a lost cause," Liam added, smirking smugly. "Believe me, I've tried."

Dorian's eyebrows shot up, surprise clear on his face for a split second before he regained his usual suave composure. "Oh, I see! I didn't take you for the type to test the waters on both shores, Inquisitor. Colour me intrigued." He tilted his head, his smirk playfully challenging. "Though, regarding our stalwart Commander, I must say, if he turned down the renowned charms of the Herald of Andraste, it truly might be a hopeless endeavour."

Stepping back slightly and putting a hand to his chest in mock dismay, he continued, "But here you are, offering me dating advice, when I'm so clearly more adept in that realm. You see, when it comes to my dalliances, dear friend, they're chosen quite deliberately and never without purpose." Dorian winked slyly. "And don't worry, I'll keep my distance from your... lost causes."

"Alright, alright, I get it. Gratitude all over the place," Liam replied, waving the sentiment away with his marked hand. "Can we go back to wading through mud and demon goo, please? I'm confronted with far too much devotion anyway in this Inquisition. 'Yes, Your Worship.' A lot of that. And sometimes also 'Yes, Your Worship, but'- which really means 'no', by the way, they're just afraid to say so... urgh." Liam rolled his eyes playfully before indicating that he meant to return to the rest of the camp for the night.

Dorian laughed softly, savouring the banter that seemed to come so naturally between the two of them. "Well, if I had known you were so opposed to all the flattery, I'd have insulted your boots again. Or perhaps the state of your hair. But alas, here I am, wasting prime opportunities to remind you of your... um, 'commoner' tastes." He tapped his chin thoughtfully, faux pondering. He then stepped closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Between you and me, 'Your Worship,' I find that using their titles right back at them throws them off. 'Oh, no problem at all, Ser Knight-Commander of the Radiant Order of Crimson Shirts.' The longer and more convoluted, the better. Confuses them for days." Dorian winked.

"You utter tease," Liam chided him playfully, laughing and nudging Dorian with his shoulder, all in one go. "Stop giving me ideas."

"As Your Worship commands." Straightening up, Dorian gestured towards the camp. "Shall we, then? Before the masses forget that their great Inquisitor is but a man with an aversion to demon goo and an affinity for questionable footwear."

"We shall," Liam agreed. "But don't tell me you really dislike the hair. Everyone else tells me it makes them want to run their fingers through it. Tousle it themselves, you know?" To underline his words, he ran his own hand through his unkempt brown locks, and Maker, the gesture was so alluring.

Dorian feigned a look of deep contemplation, tilting his head slightly as his gaze lingered on Liam's hair. "Well," he began, drawing the word out, "I must admit there's a certain... rugged appeal. But perhaps I'm just envious of anyone who can wake up, do absolutely nothing, and still look tolerably decent." He followed, jumping over some twigs, his voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness. "So, if I were to, hypothetically, want to run my fingers through it, purely for the sake of experimentation and comparison, of course, would you allow it? Or is there a queue I'd need to join? I'd hate to overstep." His eyes sparkled mischievously, clearly enjoying the playful back and forth.

"If there is a queue, I haven't been made aware of the order," Liam said laughing as they returned to the camp. "But you, hating to overstep? I thought 'Overstepping' was your middle name." He smirked, but then turned more serious again. "But Pavus, really... much as I appreciate the banter - and you're really devilishly good at it - I think we should keep this a little more professional. Despite your reassuring words, I can tell you're still not well after all that happened with your father." The rest of the implication was unspoken - taking advantage of Dorian's emotional turmoil was clearly something Liam would not do.

Dorian stopped in his tracks, a hint of surprise evident in his eyes, but he quickly masked it with a smirk. "Professional, is it? Ah, my dear Inquisitor, you have a knack for taking the wind out of one's sails," he jested. He then sighed, running a hand through his moustache thoughtfully. Something in Liam's gaze compelled him to be more honest and open than he had been in years. "In all seriousness, you're not wrong. My father, that whole... fiasco, it's left me a touch rawer than I'd like to admit. It's an old wound that's been opened, and while I may use humour and flirtation as a defence wall, I appreciate your consideration. Perhaps even more than the banter."

"You're always welcome. I do want my inner circle to know I care… and that this is not just an empty phrase," Liam assured him, frowning a little. "You do know that, right?"

Dorian smiled, albeit with a hint of sadness, "It's quite a thing, being genuinely cared for. It's been... a rare commodity in my life. Thank you, Inquisitor."

"Liam," came the simple answer. Then, with a warm smile, the Inquisitor added, "Good night, Dorian."