#dirthalene

“Oh,” he breathes, and she nearly shrinks back from the shock of it. Breath. What a strange, alien behavior after...

After so many years of her duties.

Perhaps this was a poor idea, debt of bet hanging around her or not.

'Befriend a member of the world of sky, rediscover what it is like to be near someone with a heart that beats, with life still echoing in their bones, with light in their eyes and red in their lips-'

Lips that finally close as he manages a quiet “Thank you,” with fingers twisting in feathers from his own back.

She swallows around a throat that hasn't needed it in decades, and nods politely back. The curls of her hair itch against the back of her neck with the movement, arms pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

“Do you come to these often?” He asks.

The question catches her so off guard she nearly laughs.

“I-uh-I'm sorry, what?”

“The parties,” The man explains, gesturing towards the stone door leading back to the ballroom and festivities still in full swing inside. “My family attends most regularly, though this is the first I've attended in...some time.  I am afraid there is little I am familiar with when it comes to the expectations of these evenings.”

Selene blinks, mind racing with stories Des has brought back from his past excursions; feasts of food and flesh and beasts and whatever extravagances the gods see fit to fill themselves with in the moment and thinks-no, no.

“This is my first in millenia,” She admits with a shrug and a half-honest smile. “If there are rules to these events I might have known once, the memory is long buried and lost to me. I uh,” She chuckles. “I don't get out, much. My responsibilities keep me far from here, and it's only the result of a particularly wily string of fate falling into the lap of a mischievous and trouble-loving imp that's allowed me to be present here tonight.”

“My gratitudes to the imp in question, then.” The man says with a quirk of his lip, and while, no, being a God of Death doesn't exactly leave Selene with much of a heartbeat, it feels as though hers has flipped right into her throat all the same.

“Do you dance?” She asks before she can think better of it. Think of what her touch brings and the cold and the rivers of her home and the loneliness waiting for her by moonset.

“I...suppose I have never tried,” He says, moving towards her all the same.

She takes a step towards him, undeterred by the pollen and petals and the sprouts in his footsteps.

“I'm told I make a wonderful teacher,” She offers, sliding one hand into his and the other around his waist. Not waiting for an answer, she should, she should but damn her nerves and the voice in her head. Death is not meant to dance with Life, with Spring which he so clearly is, she would be a fool not to notice. Not to see how this could only end in tragedy, how it should never even start, how it could only be terrible for them if they could be bothered to see sense.

But the orchestra is leaking through the walls, spilling into the gardens and guiding them through a dance it feels like they have done a hundred times. They must have done, steps easy and effortless and comfortable.

Gods, how long has it been since she was comfortable?

Long enough that she had forgotten the word, the concept, the relief.

Long enough that she is loath to lose it again.

“What is your name?” She asks, though it seems superfluous, nearly, now. What weight does a name carry, in the end. She has been called a great many names, and very few connect in record despite how many of them truly are hers.

Still.

If she is planning to keep him near...

“Dirthamen,” He answers, wings billowing behind him.

“Dirthamen,” She repeats, spinning him into her as surely as she spins magic into her words.

It is a terrible idea.

“I have a proposition for you, dear Dirthamen,”

A terrible, tragic, idea.

“I have a kingdom of my own, that requires my presence and much of my time,”

Would he even be happy there, in the dark with the dead and her home?

“I would very much like to show it to you,”

She could make him happy.

“If you are amenable to the trip.”

She would make him happy.

She has summoned her chariot before she can change her mind, before he can do anything but nod and follow her into it. She cracks the reigns over her spiritual beasts, keeping her prize beside her. Safe, as they travel into the dark of the night. 

Down 

Down 

Down, past the horizon and into the place where the world of sky ends.

Down 

Down 

Down, over the waterfalls of the world, across the seven rivers, and around the confused gaze of her ferryman whose eyes are still heavy with sleep.

Through the crowded alleys of the underworld, still empty in the early morning tides before she pulls into her stables.

Selene exits first, hand outstretched behind her for her newest, and only, visitor.

He might hate her for this, she knows. Could resent her and regret his choice, here in the dark of her home. Could find her to be as empty and depthless as the river Styx itself.

But she would do her best, to make him happy here.

With her.

There was no great battle, no flash ofswords and magics being slung through the air like arrows. Only asingle spell had been cast- and misfired.

Her best kept secret these days is thatthe Lord of Death is not actually…dead. Only stuck in the form ofher new and largely ill-tempered cat.

Which was fine, she supposed. The worldwas far better without him holding any sort of power, in her opinion.

And also in the many, many, manyopinions of those who had served him.

None of this had been toomuch of an issue to begin with. Cat training has been a slow, uphillbattle, but once she had learned how to cap his claws and soothe histemper, Falon'din made an…adequate pet.

Still very weird, but do-able.

No, the real troubles had started whenpeople started treating her like some sort of great hero.

She has more political sway than sheactually knows what to do with now.

And people are starting to ask her to domore things for the good of the people.

She barely managed the firstthing.

But Falon'din had a brother; a twinsoul and Lord of Darkness and Demons (who doesn’t love some creepyalliteration between brothers, right?), Dirthamen.

Whose doorstep she is currentlystanding on, with a sword on her hip.

The sentries stare at herapprehensively as she scratches the back of her head and has many,many regrets.

He’s bad, right? They all are.Different degrees of terrible, but you don’t get the title of DemonLord for nothing, and she’s seen Falon'dins atrocities. Cut from thesame cloth, and all that.

Should she just…walk in?

“Excuse me,” She calls up to one ofthe sentries on the battlement.

They lean slightly over, and gesturefor her to continue.

“I’m here to-er-to see LordDirthamen. Is he uh…” this is the worst assassination attempt inthe world, what is she even doing here trying to walk right inthe front door of his castle, she bemoans before finally asking “Ishe home?”

The sentry pulls back and Selenementally prepares herself for a fight (like I could actually take onall of Lord Dirthamen’s sentries come on,we all know I’m just going to die whether you let me in or not).

Butthe large stone doors open inward, and Selene has to rein in hersurprise.

Well.

….rightthrough the front door then, she supposes, straightening her back andtrying to exude a sense of confidence she absolutely doesn’t feel.

Maybeshe could just turn Lord Dirthamen into a cat too. Maybe he’d even beamenable to it.

‘excuseme, I know I’m supposed to kill you but wouldn’t you rather just be acat for eternity? It’d be so much simpler for all of us, don’t youagree?’

Yeah.

Right.

But asshe’s lead to the throne room she finds…a strangely normal lookingroom. A bit poorly lit maybe, but…comparatively….

Thereare no fountains of blood (not even still pools), no lingeringessences of shattered spirits, no collared or leashed servants. Eventhe Lord Dirthamen himself is unembellished, sat in dark robesand a full face mask atop his geometric throne.

Lookinglike he is…waiting for something.

Selene’snot entirely sure what to doat this point. She hadn’t thought she’d actually make it this far.

“Hello,”She tries.

“Hello,”he returns with a slight nod.

“I’mSelene.”

“Yes,”He nods again. “I have heard of you.”

Sheshifts slightly on her feet.

Sheshould have…planned this better. The last month has all been a bitof a mess though, running from one disaster to the next. If she hadwaited, he likely would have killed her first.

Hestill might.

“Ikilled your brother,” She declares.

Whichis probably the most idiotic things she could have said, she beratesherself, because really, how else would he have heard of her?

But hedoesn’t outwardly acknowledge her statement. He pauses, and leansforward slightly in his throne. Feathers rustle overhead, as thesentries that had accompanied her inside are dismissed.

Andthen she is alone with him, in the empty, cavernous, cold throneroom.

Feelingvery, very small.

Shetries not to let her self-consciousness show.

“Didyou?” He asks in a tone that is very difficult to decipher.

“Thatis what the stories say,” She evades.

“Storiessay many things; that does not make them true.”

“Everystory has a grain of truth in its core,” She retorts.

Heleans back again, and the rustling grows louder above her.

“Heis alive,” Dirthamen declares. “I can still feel my brotherthrough our bond. However he has been weakened, whatever state he isin; he is alive.”

Seleneshand sits awkwardly on the hilt of her sword.

“Youalready know this,” He says without waiting for her response.

Shehesitates.

Andthen drags her hand down her face and lets the tension slip from hershoulders.

“Ididn’t-look-ok, it was an accident.I wasn’t trying to kill your brother-” She pauses. “Ok, I wastrying a little bit,but not-I used to be a Peacekeeper, you know? I didn’t know hewas-Someone needed help and I was trying to keep the peaceand being posted to Falon'dins lands has always been a shit positionbut I was trying to make amends for issues back home and-It was hisown fault, really. Who just grabs someone and-and-and he was anasshole, and quite frankly he deserved it! So…so there!”

Thereis stillness and silence in the wake of her outburst.

“Butyou did not kill him.” Dirthamen reiterates.

“No,”Selene admits, throwing her hands up in the air in internal defeat at being the actual worst assassin ever. “I didn’t. Ishould have, but I didn’t.”

“Whereis he now?”

“Lockedin my bathroom,” She sighs, wringing her hands together.“It’s…very well warded. And his magics are gone, so he can’t domuch damage.”

“Heis very physically capable,” he says, almost like a warning. Likehe’s concerned about her getting hurt. Which is very strange on awhole host of levels she’s not well rested enough to analyze rightnow.

“Yeahwell,” She laughs awkwardly, half terrified of saying it aloud.“Maybe he was when he was an elf, but now…”

“Now?”

“He’suh…” She licks her lip nervously. “He’s a cat. A small one,like a house cat…type…creature. I put a uh-a bell on him andeverything. One of his servants recommended it. Something about karmaand collars and…”

“Youturned my brother into…a house pet?”

Seleneswallows and nods, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“Yeeeah…”

Anoise erupts from him that sounds almost like a laugh.

“That…mightexplain some things,” Is all he says though. “And you have cometo me for what purpose?”

“Ostensibly,to kill you.”

“Thatwould be quite a feat.”

“SoI’ve heard,” She says with a half-hearted grin. “Don’t supposeyou’d like to be a house cat instead?”

Hisfingers drum against the arm of his throne, and for a moment somesmall part of her thinks he might actually be considering it.

“WouldI also be cut off from my magic?”

“Ithink so.” 

She’s still figuring out how she managed that bit inparticular. The whole spell had been a blur of instinct andadrenaline, thrown together from several theories she had beenworking on in her spare time.

“ThenI am afraid I will have to decline.”

Selenesighs, and puts her hand back on the hilt of her sword. “I reallydon’t want to kill you.”

“Findingan alternative solution would be preferable,” He agrees. “Wecould discuss it over dinner if you would like.”

“I’mnot-” Selenes stomach lets out a loud rumbling noise before she canfinish turning down the invitation. “…I suppose a meal might notbe terrible.”

Selene grins sheepishly up at him, glasses falling slightly down the bridge of her nose as she takes the drink with a quiet word of thanks.

“Did you make it home safely?” He asks, words tinted with the sort of trepidation she thought he had long moved past using with her.

But, given the circumstances...

“I did,” She admits. “Your mother was gracious enough to call me a car after our...encounter.”

She watches as his lips quirk subtly in each corner, and feels a tension she hadn't realized she was holding melt away from her at the return of their usual familiarity. “Is that what you are calling it?”

“Well, 'gracious' probably isn't the most appropriate word either, but it's the most polite,” Selene teases. “She is still your mother after all.”

Dirthamen makes a soft, noncommittal noise of confirmation and takes a sip of his coffee.

Selene taps her fingers against the sides of her own drink, and contemplates whether or not she should tell him.

He's got a right to know, right? Mythals supposed desire for him to have a partner is the whole reason they're doing this dating thing, after all.

“Dirthamen...” She finally ventures.

“Yes?”

“Your mother....” She sighs. “Mythal, asked me to leave you last night, while we were talking. And she offered me a not-inconsequential amount of money to do so.”

He looks less surprised than she thought he would at the news.

She's not sure why that bothers her so much.

“How much did she offer you?” He finally asks.

“About five times my yearly salary,” Selene admits. “Before taxes.”

Dirthamens eyebrows raise at that, at least.

“That's a ludicrous amount of money, Dirthamen,” Selene continues, emphasizing with her hands out between them. “I'm paid well here. Like, really, really well. And she offered me five times that in a single payout, just to stop dating you. Is there something you're not telling me about this situation? Some heiress or...or distant royalty or something that you're secretly betrothed to? Or does she just really hate me that much?”

“I do not think she hates you,” Dirthamen says. “My brother does, though that is unsurprising. I also do not believe I am secretly betrothed, however.”

“Then why would she offer me so much money to break up with you?”

“I do not know,” He admits. “My mothers workings are often hidden behind several layers of subtleties and tricks that I am not yet adept at understanding.”

Selene frowns, and finally takes a drink from her own coffee.

Oh, she realizes as the white chocolate flavor coats her tongue. He got my order right.

He shuffles slightly on his feet, and stares at the wall behind her.

“Are you going to continue working here?”

Selene blinks.

“I...yes? Why wouldn't I?”

“As you said, it is a not-inconsequential amount of money. You do not need to work any longer, with so much at your disposal.”

Selene straightens in her seat, and tries not to look as insulted as she feels.

“I didn't take the money, you know.”

His eyes land square on her face at her proclamation.

“Why not?”

“Because...” She huffs. “Because why would I? I like my job, I like my lifestyle, I like-”

You, she almost says without thinking.

“...things the way they are.”

He blinks.

Slowly.

His eyebrows scrunch together, like he is working on a puzzle and only now realizing half of the pieces are meant to be in a separate box.

“We are going to break up, though.”

Her stomach knots, and her hand tightens slightly around her cup. She has to make a conscious decision to relax it again, as she lets out a breath.

“Yes. Of course,” She says because, Yes, of course. Of course they are going to break up; they are only pretending to be dating. Not actually...Her mind and heart have run off without her, again. This is a professional arrangement. A favor for a friend, at best.

A friend she is...potentially having new emotions for.

Her gaze darts down to his hand, her mind flashing back to the night before. Gloves, and contact, and long fingers gripping her own, keeping them warm-

She drags her hand down her face in frustration as she feels flames licking gently beneath her skin, stoked by thoughts of a perfectly innocent interaction that she's gone and run away with, wildly out of context.

“It's fine,” She finally says. “It's just money. I gave you my word, and we had an agreement. I'm not going to back out of that.”

He's silent for a moment, the tips of his ears turning a lovely shade of pink before he finally clears his throat.

“...Thank you.”

She nods her head in acknowledgment, staring awkwardly at the hardwood floors.

“I should...return to my own office,” He manages, pointing at his door.

Selene nods again, and holds up her drink. “Thank you for the coffee, by the way. It's my favorite.”

“Yes,” He says. “It was no problem.”

–

It's a few hours past lunchtime when she finally knocks on Dirthamens office door.

“Come in,” he calls.

Selene pushes the door inward, poking just her head in with a grin.

“So...you know how I agreed to go to all of those events of your families for the holiday season? As part of our arrangement?”

“Yes,” Dirthamen says, glancing away from his computer monitor only briefly, hands not even slowing in his calculations as he types.

“I need you to go to a thing with me, now.”

The clacking of the keyboard stops, as he looks at her again.

“Oh. Yes, of course. What is the event?”

“Dinner?” She says meekly, stepping fully into his office now and wringing her hands slightly. “Not a big one. At my house. With my roommate. Well, I say roommate, Des is-well, no, he is my roommate. He just doesn't think-” She sighs, bouncing slightly on her heels. “He thinks I'm lying. About dating you.”

“You are lying,” Dirthamen points out.

“Not helpful!” She argues. “My side of this arrangement is that dating you means he can't drag me to his parties. If he thinks we're not really dating and I'm just lying to get out of it, he's going to make me go anyways.”

“...You are lying to get out of it-”

“Listen,” Selene insists, leaning with both hands against the edge of his desk. “I need you to go to this dinner and help me convince Des that we are head-over-heels in puppy love with one another, or you're going to have to have sex with me somewhere in this office in a way that I will reek of the activity before I go home tonight.”

Dirthamen blinks, and she watches as his eyes slowly trail towards the couch in the space between their offices. Selene fiercely pushes down the mental image of dragging him towards it with his tie wrapped around her fist, pulling him down on top of her or crawling into his lap and sliding her mouth over his, tasting and delving and-

“We're having chicken,” She decides, voice only cracking slightly. “We'll take my car.”

–

Selene texts Des from the elevator, reminding him that she is bringing home her boyfriend and that he needs to please be fully dressed when they arrive.

He shoots back with 'sharing is caring'.

But he is dressed when he answers the door, when Dirthamen walks in with the spare bottle of white wine he keeps in his office for situations like these (How often he finds himself in these situations, she didn't bother asking), and when he gives him a hug and directs him to the guest bathroom down the hall so that he can wash up a bit after the long work day.

He's still dressed, in one of his nicer shirts even, when he turns to Selene with a knowing grin and says “You two are so full of shit.”

Selene frowns and pulls the wine from Des's grip, moving into the kitchen to chill it as she responds with an innocent “What are you talking about?”

“You're not in love with each other,” he snickers. “C'mon, the poor guy looked like he was going to explode when he brushed your shoulder in the doorway. That was the face of someone who's barely even held hands since grade school, not someone getting laid on a regular basis.”

“We're taking things slow,” Selene shrugs. “There's nothing wrong with that.”

Des crosses his arms and leans against the door frame. “Sure, sure. But I've known you since we were kids, Selene. Give me a little credit here.”

“Credit for what?” She nearly laughs. “You didn't believe me, and now Dirthamen is here to show you that yes, we really are dating and I'm not lying and our relationship is perfectly fine and good and normal.”

Des cups his face in one hand and makes a poor attempt to stifle a grin. “You've always been a terrible liar, babe. I hope your 'boyfriend' has a better poker face than you do.”

“Don't make air quotes when you call him that!”

“Don't lie to me then.”

“I'm not-”

Selene stops at the sound of familiar footfalls, crossing her arms petulantly over her chest as Dirthamen appears behind Des, face freshly washed and hair re-styled to look less worn-down by the day.

A shame, really. She sort of likes when his hair is tousled from his fingers running through the strands. It always looks so soft.

Des is staring at her like he can read her mind, and it's infuriating.

“Dinner's in the oven,” Selene announces, noting the remaining timer. “Shall we move to the living room?”

“Sure,” Des chirps. “Tell me, Dirthamen; do you play poker?”

“No.” Selene answers for him.

–

There's no poker, but Dirthamen does turn out to be fairly good at Settlers of Catan. Des pouts as he hands over his previously won Longest Road card, giving Dirthamen the first win of the night.

“So,” Des drawls, leaning into Dirthamens space. “What drew you to Selene, hm?”

Dirthamen looks slightly caught off guard, and she can't really blame him.

“I mean, she's hot of course,” Des continues, gesturing to Selene. “And rich, but you're richer. So why her, hm?”

“Des,” Selene hisses, kicking out at him under the coffee table. Poorly though, she ends up knocking the both of them when her leg straightens.

“Selene and I have been working in the same space for nearly three years now,” Dirthamen answers, unperturbed by the line of questioning.

“So, just convenient then?” Des hums in disapproval, eyes darting over to Selene who is clenching and unclenching her hands in her lap and trying not to feel mortified.

“That is part of it,” Dirthamen admits. “But there are much more intriguing aspects to Selene.”

“Such as?” Des pushes, one eyebrow raising as he leans even closer.

“She is very brilliant. I have yet to find any discrepancies that she has not already caught. She is also kind to everyone whom I have seen cross her path. I have recently discovered she is also very strong, physically, magically, and emotionally,” He hesitates for a moment, swallowing as his ears begin to tint pink again. “And unerringly loyal. Even to those who do not always deserve it. There are many engrossing qualities to Selene that first drew my interest, and each one only serves to reveal more that I am eager to discover through our time together.”

Selene swallows, throat dry and face warm.

It's not true, she reminds herself. He's just selling the lie. It's part of the arrangement. None of this is real.

It's just what he thinks Des wants to hear. Nothing more.

The oven timer begin to beep and Selene nearly knocks the coffee table over in her haste to get up, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

“I got it!” She announces, dismissing herself without another word.

It's a lie.

It's not real.

She's falling for an act.

An act she agreed to play a part in.

Damn.

Damn, damn, damn.

She doesn't even remember taking the chicken out of the oven, vision blurry as she hastily turns on the kitchen sink. She sniffs and wipes at her cheeks with her wrists, berating herself for her stupidity.

It's not real. She knows that, she knows it. The only part he was telling the truth about was that it was convenient for him. She was around and she was dumb enough to agree to this stupid painful thing they're doing and Des was right and she hates it when he's right because it's always about stuff like this and it always hurts and Dirthamen isn't like Haleir but it hurts anyways because she fell for the lies of a pretty elf again and let herself think for a little bit that what he was saying was real and that there was something good and worthwhile about her.

It'll never be real.

She sniffs, and lets out a shaky breath.

She is worthwhile. She's proved that-she's abandoned her blood and her past and started over from nothing and risen nearly to the top in one of the most powerful business empires in Thedas. She has earned her home and her life and her freedoms, and she has done it on her own merits.

The opinions of a pretty elf have no bearing on any of those things.

Selene lets out another breath. Sturdier, this time. Grounding.