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Dorian stood at the window, his window, the one he had claimed as soon as the library had been set up after their arrival from Haven, surrounded by the books he hid behind and the chair no one else dared sit in, very much alone. No one came here, save the quiet elf who occasionally rearranged the books on the shelves and the tranquil mage who all but ignored his presence so long as he ignored hers. The Inquisitor would, on occasion, stop by, but her visits were few and far between and the silence would stretch on without her. He had left Tevinter, left his home, the people he cared for an the homeland he loved. It was for a better cause, he knew this, one that he had no choice but to fight for, lest he brand himself a hypocrite. Still, turning one’s back on family was a hard decision to make, and he found himself wondering on occasion as to whether it was the right one.
His own motivations did not matter, though. Not to the majority of the Inquisition, and not to Thedas as a whole. To them, he was just another Tevinter bastard, there to rob them of their freedom or use them for some obscene blood magic ritual. That he abhorred blood magic and wanted to do nothing of the sort mattered little, it seemed, not in the grand scheme of things. Not when it was easier to blame the man for the mistakes of his countrymen.
When the Inquisitor had appeared, clutching the letter from his father in her massive hand, the missive requesting he be taken to a secret meeting with no prior knowledge of the event, Dorian had jumped at the chance. He had no real desire to meet with Halward Pavus’ messenger in Redcliffe, but the man had been hounding him for entirely too long, and by involving those few friends Dorian had managed to make since his arrival - namely, Adaar and Bull, though scant few others could be considered acquaintances - Halward had managed to pique his ire enough that the meeting was, in fact, inevitable.
When it became apparent that the secret meeting was to be attended by Halward himself, rather than some hired muscle with designs to drag him back home, the reunion went downhill about as quickly as could have been expected. Dorian could not bring himself to listen to his father’s pleas, furious that he had once again tried to deceive him, and with so much resentment still outstanding from what had transpired between them so long ago he unleashed the full force of his rage on the man who’s lap he had sat on as a child, who had taught him how to weave everything from the simplest to the most complex of spells, and who’s pride and devotion had carried him through to the man he was today.
Truthfully, Dorian loved his father dearly, and that was why the betrayal had hurt so badly, and continued to hurt near enough every day since. He could not forgive him, but that did not make the pain any less intense. They had left after a scant few minutes, and made it back to Skyhold with little trouble, and it did not appear anyone had tried to follow them either, which was somewhat unexpected. Adaar had remained with him for a while, in her own clumsy way trying to ensure that he was all right, but there was little she could do to help and in the end she, too, left him.
Thus, he remained alone, staring down into a courtyard filled with people who loathed his very existence, who would likely have cheered at his leaving had Halward had is way, the loss of the Tevinter mage felt by so few in Skyhold it would scarce have been noticed. Adaar would have missed him for a while, of that he knew, and Bull would have lamented his leaving, if for nothing more than losing their idle banter and potentially gaining an enemy he would rather not have to kill. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, or when he had become so bitter, but so lost in thoughts was he that the approach of booted footsteps went all but unnoticed.
“Dorian?” The mage whirled around, caught unaware, his face momentarily open and fragile, looking for all to see as though all the worries of Thedas were resting on his two shoulders. Cullen stood before him, head cocked slightly to one side as a puppy might when eyeing something interesting. The presence of the handsome commander made Dorian’s heart flutter ever so slightly, and he chastised himself internally for allowing it to do so. Such whims would not go down well in Skyhold were they to become public knowledge, he wagered.
“Ah, Commander.” The mask slipped back into place, as easy and smoothly as slipping on a shawl. “How can I be of service.”
“I was going to ask how you were faring, but I can see for myself.” Cullen stepped forward, looking troubled, the usually self-assured mage taking a reflexive step back as the commander approached, finding he could go no further as his back brushed against stone. For the first time since he had appeared, Dorian noted that the commander was not wearing his usual armour, but rather the casual tunic and trousers seemingly preferred by the men of Ferelden. Dull in colour and of a simple design, it made the man seem smaller, somehow, certainly less imposing, and rather more appealing without all of that bulky metal and fur blocking the view. Cullen was a pleasant sight to behold, and it was well-known that more than a few fancied their chances with the commander, though it was said all who approached him were turned away. He had graced Dorian’s dreams with his presence on more than one occasion over the past few months, and his waking mind on many more.
“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re referring to, I’m perfectly well as you can see.” Smooth and elaborate hand gestures accompanied the usual flowery speech, and he might have passed the unspoken test had his voice not wavered slightly on the last two words.
“The Inquisitor told me some of what happened out at Redcliffe, but she wouldn’t elaborate.” He paused for a moment, as though wondering whether the question should be asked, or if he should leave things as they were. “Did you want to talk about it?” Cullen’s tone was low, a conversation for Dorian’s ears only, and with a tenderness that would make most of the maidens about the castle blush from their ears to their boots.
“Not really.” The mage looked away, unable to keep eye contact any longer, his resolve wavering. “There’s very little to talk about. What has happened is in the past, and there is no changing it now.” He was a fool. Before him stood the commander of the Inquisition, a man he had spent hours playing chess against, who he had drunk with and fought alongside. This was a man who knew him, and knew him well, likely better than anyone else in Skyhold in fact. He could not have kept up the pretence, not against Cullen, and not if he had even wanted to.
“True, but that doesn’t mean you should suffer through this alone.” He was so damnably perfect, everything Dorian could ever have wanted and more. Cullen stood so close he could have reached out and touched him, and yet it seemed that there were chasms between them. Ordinarily he would have laughed, at his own stupidity and the ridiculousness of the situation, but his mind would not allow him to conjure even the mirth required for that.
“And I’m sure you have your own-” Dorian was momentarily silenced, as a calloused and battle-worn hand raised to cup his cheek, Cullen’s thumb running over the corner of his mouth, hair tickling the lone digit as it passed over the perfectly shaped moustache. “I am a weak man, Commander. Please, do not tempt me with what I cannot have.” His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, the façade slowly crumbling away to reveal raw, untamed emotion. His own arm had raised, seemingly of its own accord, leaving his hand resting on the slightly rough fabric of Cullen’s tunic, clutching just barely as though afraid of what might happen were he to take hold fully.
“Speaking with the Inquisitor just now, she made me realise something.” When had they gotten so close, when had Cullen moved? Standing with his back pressed against the cold stone, the attractive blonde mere inches from his chest, Dorian swallowed as he watched that damnably perfect mouth form words he was struggling to comprehend, the scar there twisting as Cullen spoke, firm and unwavering. “She made me realise that I very nearly lost you today.”
“Lost me? My dear, you-”
“Please, Dorian.” Cullen interrupted, the thumb that had been tracing his cheek moving to sit upon his lips, proving to be a rather effective tool for silencing him. “Let me finish.” Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he continued. “Had they had their way, you would be half way back to Tevinter by now, and I would be here, alone. And it would be my own fool fault for not having voiced this earlier.”
“Voiced what? Commander-”
“Cullen.” The blonde corrected. “I’d prefer it if you used my name.”
“Cullen...” Dorian paused for a moment, the name sounding right as it rolled from his tongue. “What is it that you are trying to tell me?” The mage wasn’t stupid, he knew what this looked like, and for a moment pondered as to whether his father had perhaps found some way to trap him in the Fade temporarily without his knowledge, meaning that this would be a dream, and Cullen little more than a desire demon. But no, he would have known if that was the case, and yet there could be little other explanation for the man’s sudden appearance and apparent interest.
“I’m no good with words. Not these sorts of words, anyway.” A wry smile, a flicker of nervousness, and the commander leant in then, the hand at his cheek moving around to carefully hold the back of Dorian’s head, as he allowed the gentlest brush of lips in a kiss that was barely there. The mage hardly had time or the presence of mind to respond before Cullen pulled back, only far enough to stare into his eyes, giving the slightly smaller man a worried look.
“This is-” He swallowed, head spinning from too much and not enough. “What is this?” Despite himself, Dorian found that his vision misted over, tears pooling at his eyelashes until he blinked, the water spilling over and sending two droplets trickling down his cheeks. The left one caught on the thumb that was ever-present, while the other managed to make it all the way down to his chin before Cullen ducked his head to kiss away the moisture, leaving only a damp trail in his wake.
“This is something I should have done months ago. I can think of little more than you, Dorian, and I would have that you let me help you with this, if nothing else.” The flush that had briefly graced the commander’s cheekbones following his rather forward behaviour refused to fade away entirely, their breath mingling between them as neither man made to move away.
“Yes.” The stunned mage choked out, almost shyly wrapping his arms about the commander’s waist, letting himself be pulled in until his nose was buried in the crook of the blonde’s neck, breathing in the heady scent of the other man as he sobbed silently into the fabric of Cullen’s tunic in a way he hadn’t in years, shoulders shaking and chest heaving.
“I won’t let anyone take you away from me, that I swear to you.” Cullen simply held him, then, muttering soothing words as he kept Dorian close, one arm wrapped around his back while the other curled up to lightly stroke his hair. They stood like that for some time, undisturbed, as months of tension, fear and resentment spilled out in one go, soaking the hempen fabric through to the skin. Finally, once he could cry no more, Dorian pulled back as far as their grip on each other would allow.
“I can assure you, I don’t typically make a habit of crying on the shoulders of men who try to kiss me.” He hadn’t lost his sense of humour entirely, it seemed, though the mage’s voice was thick with something other than tears and he didn’t miss the way Cullen pulled him just that little bit closer at the embarrassment clearly evident on his face.
“Thank the Maker for that! Otherwise, we’d have drowned half of Skyhold by the time this evening is through.” Cullen leaned forward, resting their foreheads together, noses just barely touching in a gesture that was entirely too familiar for a newly-acquired lover, though Dorian found he surprisingly did not mind.
“Is that a promise?” The mage chuckled, giving the blonde a light squeeze.
“Do you want it to be?”
“More than you can possibly imagine.” Dorian finally admitted, letting loose a gentle sigh. “I had no idea you felt this way. Had I known, we might have started this some time ago and saved everyone the hassle.”
“I think I needed the shock of almost losing you to finally spur me into action. You know how thick-headed I can be at times.”
“Indeed, I think almost everyone is aware of your stubborn streak.” Dorian agreed with a small smirk. “I have to admit, the version of you in my mind had the good grace to blush and stammer like a pretty young maid upon confessing your undying love for me. It seems, my commander, that I gave you rather less credit than you deserved.”
“Do you often fantasize about me confessing my undying love for you, then?” The man teased, raising an eyebrow at the mage and grinning, the action drawing a deep flush up the back of Dorian’s neck and across his cheeks, meeting at his nose as he turned a spectacular shade of red upon realising his error. The smaller man coughed in embarrassment, looking away for a moment to regain his composure as he realised that the roles he had imagined for them had been very much reversed.
“But won’t they talk? The commander of the Inquisition’s forces being led astray by a Tevinter mage, and a man no less.” The change of subject was noted, yet not commented upon, Cullen recognising the present fragility of the man in his arms and allowing it to slide. For now.
“So let them talk, it doesn’t matter to me. Who I choose to fall for is my business and my business alone.”
“You have fallen for me, then?” For the moment, the teasing was reversed, though it surprised Dorian immensely when the response he got was not the embarrassed prattlings of a man caught out.
“I think there is every chance that I have, yes.” There was no blushing, no stammering of words or stumbled sentences. Dorian knew, at that point, that he held the commander’s heart in his very hands, and that his next move could very well destroy the man if he was not careful. It was not easy to win the affection of the lion of the Inquisition, everyone in Skyhold knew that, and somehow he had managed to without so much as trying.
“Would it surprise you, Cullen, to hear that the feeling is entirely mutual?” The battle-hardened warrior took a sharp intake of breath at that, looking for all of Thedas as though he had just been handed some impossible gift. They moved as one, mouths crashing together in a tangle of lips and tongues and unspoken promises. Dorian whimpered slightly as Cullen took control of the kiss, any remaining hesitance and shyness long since forgotten as he poured all of his feelings and desires into that one motion, the mage lapping it up as one starved. Ring-laden fingers found their way up to blonde curls, carding and gripping and holding on as though he might get washed away by the sheer torrent of need if he didn’t.
Maker, he was never letting this man go.
Adaar stood from her position at the railing and stretched, remaining crouched for so long making the tall Qunari’s spine ache, though it was more than worth it. She grinned and turned, finding Leliana staring up at her with some amusement on her pointed features. “Your doing, I take it?”
“Cullen’s a stubborn ox, he just needed a nudge in the right direction.” That almost infuriating grin did not move from the Inquisitor’s face, looking rather like the cat that got the cream.
“More like a shove with a battering ram.” The redhead giggled softly, shaking her head. “What did you tell him, anyway?”
“That Dorian was very nearly spirited away against his will by his father, and that if he didn’t confess it was going to be too late.”
“And..?” The spymaster prompted, following as the Inquisitor moved to seat herself upon one of the many crates about the round room.
“And I might have threatened to do it for him.” The Qunari finally admitted, having the good grace to look at least somewhat sheepish.
“Dorian would never have believed you.”
“No, but Cullen did, and that’s what counts. Besides, I’m sick of watching them moon over each other like a couple of lovesick birds, it’s annoying. Humans are so strange.”
“I will agree with you on that.” Leliana chuckled, turning back to glance back down at the room below, seeing little more from her position than two sets of legs standing near-entwined with each other, smiling softly at the sight.