#da fics

Dorian had several titles in Skyhold. Anyone who'd befriended the Inquisitor simply used his name. Those who had a passing familiarity referred to him as ‘Lord Pavus’ if they liked him, or simply ‘The Tevinter’ if they didn’t. Josephine, however, remained somewhere in the middle.

“Lord Dorian?” She said to announce herself as she stepped into his alcove of the library.

“Something I can do for you?” he asked.

“Your presence has been requested in the Inquisitor's quarters at your earliest convenience.” Josephine continued writing something on her clipboard as she spoke, refusing to look up.

“Has it now?” Dorian smirked. “Is this an official request? Or is he truly too busy to ask me himself?”

“Er- I believe it is official business.” Josephine shifted uneasily. “As far as I know.”

“And what else do you know? What aren't you telling me?”

Josephine glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “Just between you and I, the Inquisitor did not seem to be in a very agreeable mood last I saw him.” she whispered. “I tried to get him to confide in me, but he only wishes to speak to you.”

“I see.”

“All I mean to say is I would tread carefully, if I were you.”

“I solemnly promise to be gentle with him.” Dorian all but rolled his eyes.

Aramil often conducted business in his quarters, mostly on his balcony overlooking the mountains. He claimed he liked to appear approachable in meetings, especially with those he considered friends. Dorian always suspected it was a flimsy excuse to prevent unwanted questions on how often Dorian himself was called into 'meetings'. Surely they had to know it wasn't always business. The Tevinter mage wasn't exactly known for his advice on Orlesian politics.

When Dorian climbed the stairs to the Inquisitor's room, he found the elf out on the balcony, leaning heavily against the railing as he surveyed his empire.

“You're sending your advisors to summon me now?” Dorian chided, as he sauntered across the room. “Credit where it's due, it was certainly a creative way to get me to your quarters, but I'm not sure it was the most subtle. Poor Josephine could hardly look me in the eye.”

Aramil didn't respond. No witty comment or playful quip as he turned around. Unfortunately, Josephine was right. He didn't seem very pleased at all.

“Are you alright?” Dorian asked.

“Yes.” he nodded, forcing a smile that wasn’t fooling anyone. “I’m glad you’re here.”

The Inquisitor’s words seemed genuine, even if his eyes told another story. Clearly something was bothering him. With the Inquisition, it could’ve been any number of things that he couldn’t, or shouldn’t talk about. While Dorian couldn’t do much to help with the war effort, he was nothing if not a helpful distraction from it all.

“If you wanted to be alone, amatus, all you had to do was ask.” Dorian added, stepping closer when he noticed the elf’s lips twitch up into a smile.

Aramil’s eyes fell closed as Dorian leaned in to kiss him. He kept things chaste for the moment, not knowing who all could see them from the courtyard below. Dorian reached for the elf’s hand, gently tugging him back inside to continue.

Once they were safely out of view, he reached up to caress Aramil’s cheek, leaning back in for another kiss. When he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist, he slid a hand up Aramil’s chest, curling the other into his long, white hair.

Dorian reluctantly drew back, intending to progress things along, but before he could duck his head to start kissing along the column of his neck, Aramil slumped forward, blocking his movement.

To Dorian’s surprise and confusion, the Inquisitor rested his chin on Dorian’s shoulder, tightening the arms around his back.

It wasn’t quite the passionate embrace he was expecting. Aramil was simply… holding him.

Dorian couldn't remember the last time he'd been hugged this way, especially not by a man he was sleeping with. He couldn't deny how nice it felt to have his lover's arms wrapped around him, but that didn't stop him from standing shock still, hands awkwardly hovering in the air as the Inquisitor held him close.

“Oh dear. Missing me already? You were only in the war room for an hour.” he teased, struggling to keep his composure in the face of such unfamiliar warmth.

A moment's hesitation was clearly enough for the Inquisitor to regret his decision. He quickly pulled back, grimacing to himself. “I’m sorry.”

“You seem… distracted, and not in a good way. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Not really, no.” he finally admitted.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no it’s not you, vhenan.” he said, reaching for Dorian’s hand to punctuate his statement. “I just… don’t think I’m up for anything more right now.” he admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for that. I’m the one who assumed.” Dorian could never be truly angry at his amatus when he wasn’t in the mood, but he couldn’t help feeling a little lost on how to proceed. He settled for giving the elf’s hand a gentle squeeze, wracking his brain on what to do next.

“Well, since I have severely misjudged the purpose of this little meeting of ours, why don't you tell me why you summoned me here?”

Aramil hung his head. “Today has been endless. Constant meetings and negotiations. I’ve barely had a moment to breathe, and then…” he sighed, shaking the fog from his head. “I just needed to see you.”

“And here I am!” Dorian held out his arms with a dramatic flourish. “See how easy that was?”

“Yes.” Aramil replied, with the barest hint of a smile. “Thank you. For being here.”

In all the chaos of the Inquisition, Dorian couldn’t imagine how Aramil managed to stay as calm as he did. Their fearless leader held the weight of the entire organization on his slim shoulders, but few saw the man behind the rather intimidating station.

Dorian didn’t feel worthy enough to be one of them.

“What can I do?” he asked, ready to do anything his amatus asked of him.

-----------------

It’s the strangest feeling, being completely unaware of your surroundings outside of the erratic beat of your hard, but at the same time, completely aware of every single scratch from outside, every cry of every seagull for what feels like for miles.

Deran took another breath, staring at the outside from the slit of window visible from the back room.

Thump, thump, thump.

He heard Smurf’s vitriol, her fury, “Someone is talking to the cops.”

He heard her pointed words like a blade, like a bullet, digging straight into the flesh and bone of his chest.

Thump, thump, thump.

Someone was talking to the cops. Someonewastalkingtothecops.

Thump thump thump thump thump th-

The front door to the bar opened and shut lightly and a tired, worn voice called out, “Deran?”

Someone. Was. Talking. To. The. Cops. 

Deran’s light grip on the bannister for that little window slit tightened until his knuckles were bone white and aching. 

Adrian poked his head around the corner. Deran turned around just in time to see his weary eyes lighten for a second and then shutter back up, “There you are.”

Deran said nothing. How could he say anything that could be heard over the stampedes in his heart? The disbelief, the betrayal coursing through his veins like venom? Adrian, out of all the fucking people, his heartmindbody cried out, Adrian?

No.

Adrian blinked at the lack of response and too an uneasy step forward, “Deran?”

Deran turned back around, grabbed his piece from the side wall and turned back around. The metal was cool in his hand, the weight foreboding and burning.

Adrian halted and stared at the gun in disbelief, “What the fuck?”

“Someone’s been talking to the cops,” Deran ground out, keeping the gun cocked at his side, but the threat still imminent despite his cells revolting, “And I thought, not Adrian. Anyone but Adrian. He wouldn’t do it. He’s not that fucking stupid for one, and he wouldn’t-- not to me. Not to me.”

Deran has to stop. He has to focus, instead on the way Adrian is standing stock still in the center of the room, to a cobweb hanging just above Adrian’s right shoulder. Fuck he has to clean that. He has to-- when the thing with Adrian is taken care of of. He has to get on that.

Adrian shook his head, “Deran, come on-”

“I told Smurf that when she brought you up,” Deran continued, “But then I learned about an hour ago that Jack and his entire crew just got picked up by the DEA. Every single one of them for floating LSD.”

Deran, arms like lead weights and soul like a deflated balloon, raised his gun an inch and pointed it at Adrian, “Except for you.”

Adrian’s jaw clenched and his eyes flit from the barrel of the gun into Deran’s own eyes and fuck, they were watering. Deran’s, not Adrian’s. God it had been so long since Deran had felt-- it was like his father taking everything from him again only more because it was Adrian and Adrian has been here, Adrian is everything, hisbestfuckingfriend and-- god he feels like he can’t breathe.

The gun wobbled a centimeter. And then an inch. 

Adrian’s gaze was steady, “Yeah, I sold them out.”

“Motherfucker.” Deran swore and the gun wobbled again.

Adrian took a step forward, “Ask me if I said shit about you.” 

Deran didn’t say anything, just shook his head clear of the betrayal. He had to focus. This he was good at, the threatening, the getting to the bottom of things. He was good at it, he was-- it didn’t matter that it was Adrian-- It didn’t matter. 

Adrian continued, “I should have told you the full extent of what was going down, but I haven’t seen you since-- since it turned sideways, okay? Okay, Deran? But listen to me, I did not say anything about you or Smurf or your brothers.”

Liar, years worth of conditioning screamed. 

Traitor, his mother voice hissed in his mind.

Adrian, his stupid fucking heart murmured.

Something that felt like suspicion coated hope filtered through his mind. Adrian couldn’t lie for shit. It was something the entire family had been on his case about since childhood. And Adrian’s gaze was steady, still not teary, but something deep and warm and hurting in there.

Adrian’s voice was more urgent, “Deran, I didn’t. Trust me. Twenty years when have I ever let you down? It’s me, Deran.”

Deran held the gun on him for a second longer and lowered it back down to his side, “Goddamnit.”

Adrian slumped a little, but held his place. “I’ll tell you everything. All of it, I swear. But I didn’t-- come on, man. I would never do that to you.”

Deran shook his head and put the gun back in the shelf. Once it was out of sight, Adrian broke rank and strode forward crashing into Deran like a wave against a rock. His warm, salt-scented palms cupped Deran’s face, ignoring Deran’s uncomfortable shifts until he got a good grip. 

Adrian made sure their eyes were connected, “Fuck, if you ever pull a gun on me again...”

The gall of him. Getting mad at Deran while Deran very nearly imploded with the force of Adrian’s potential betrayal.

The fucking gall of him. Deran loved him so much, even if he’d never be able to articulate it.

Deran jerked a nod. And Adrian’s lips crashed down on his.