#dorianders

“I cannot feel my face,” he whimpered, poking his cheek with a spoon. “Is it still there?”

“Still there,” I chuckled, pulling the kettle off the stove as soon as it began to whistle. “Cinnamon apple or orange cardamom?”

“Cardamom.” Dorian traced his brow with the curve of the spoon. “What would you normally be doing right now?”

“Now?” I glanced over at the clock. Half past eight. “I’d still be sleeping or I’d be working.”

“You don’t have to stay up with me. You can sleep.”

“I will after you do.” I poured the steaming water over the herbs, letting them steep in Dorian’s mug. I passed it to him. “What would you typically be doing?”

“Swimming.” Dorian wrapped his hands around the mug. “Sleeping in, if there’s no pool nearby.”

Swimming. I imagined there were a great many people who would pay a lot of money to watch that. No wonder he was in such good shape. I hadn’t been to a gym since high school, and it showed. “I haven’t had much time for hobbies lately.”

“No, I wouldn’t imagine so,” he paused and buried his face behind his elbow to cough. “I was surprised you answered.”

“I’d just gotten off.” I puttered about the kitchen, looking for something that would be easy for Dorian to eat. Why did everything he owned seem to have so many spices? “Lucky timing.”

“Lucky, indeed.” I could feel him watching me. “Nevertheless. Do you still have that garden on your balcony?”

“…more or less.”

“I remember you talking about your marigolds.”

“My poor plants have seen better days, I’m afraid.” Half of them were dead or dying. “No time, you see.”

“I do.” He plucked at the string of the tea bag, wiggling it absently. “Could I impose upon you further, do you think?”

“Hm?” I wondered, turning back to face him. “How so?”

“One of my downstairs maids takes care of all of my indoor plants. She times it when I’m out, so we don’t cross paths, but… she could use the hours. Perhaps I could send her to tend to yours as well.”

“…my garden?” I blinked, staring at him.

“She’s very good. You should see the conservatory.”

“Conservatory.” Why was I still surprised. “Ah- Okay. I can’t-“

“Thank you. I appreciate your willingness to help. The poor girl is bored to tears these days with the lockdown.”

“I was going to say: I can’t afford to pay her. I’ve still got loans-“

Dorian waved a hand. “Not at all what I was suggesting. I have direct deposit for her. She simply refuses to take donations.”

“Oh. Yes.” I felt my cheeks warm again and I thought of the thick wad of cash I’d failed to fit into my wallet. “That would be- Thank you. Some of those plants I’ve had for ages; my rosemary was from a plant I had with me in Ferelden.” 

“Write down your instructions. She’ll take good care of them, I’m sure.” Dorian sipped from the mug and sniffed. “Perhaps the tea is old? I can order more.”

“…what?”

“Nothing. It’s usually stronger.” He shrugged. “Perhaps it’s the way Dorothea brews it. I can ask her.”

I studied him curiously. “…can you not taste it?”

“Nor smell it. Not to worry. The heat is pleasant on my throat.”

“Ah-“ I could smell the spices from across the room. I brought the glass jar filled with herbs and orange peels to him, opening it under his nose. “Can you smell this?”

Dorian sniffed, glancing up. “See what I mean? Off. Perhaps the seal is broken. I’ll add it to the list.”

I shook my head, frowning. “I can, though.” I pointed to the far window. “From over there.”

His lashes fluttered and he frowned, sniffing and sipping again. “It isn’t enough that I’m sweating like a desert gardener?”

“I’m sorry, Dorian.” I winced, taking the loose leaf away. “Losing your senses of smell and taste can be one of the symptoms. They should come back after a few weeks.”

“A few- I apologize, a few weeks? I thought you said this would pass in a few days.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “It’s worse? Am I getting worse? I don’t think I can spend another few weeks in this house, Anders. I’ll go stir crazy.”

“Most of your symptoms should be better in a few days,” I began, cautiously. “Then you should be able to get back to work. Though I don’t think there’s really an end in sight for the lockdown, if I’m being quite honest. Is that- Are you- I know a good therapist if you’d like a referral.” Merrill was just as swamped as he was, but was also just as willing to make exceptions for Varric’s friends. “Let’s just focus on today, alright? Where do you keep breakfast things?”

“…breakfast things,” he repeated, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I order from Al Pano’s, two blocks past the gates. Lisetta does bike runs.”

“You don’t- You don’t cook here?” I turned in a slow circle around the massive kitchen. “Why do you have this, then?”

“I have a chef. Wilson. He’s exquisite. The things he can do with a single egg would make your eyes roll in your head.”

“…does he keep any eggs here?” I wondered, wandering towards the walk-in fridge. I opened the heavy door with a grunt, my voice echoing. “Milk?”

“He hasn’t been here since the lockdown,” Dorian said between sips of his tea. “Thus: Al Pano’s. Do you need milk and eggs? I can order them. I do have a wonderful array of cigars and brandy.”

“Cigars and brandy aren’t breakfast.”

Dorian tutted. “Anything can be anything.”

“You don’t need to be smoking when you can barely keep from coughing as it is.”

“Hmph.” Dorian rose slowly from his seat and crossed to the empty refrigerator. “What do you need.”

I sighed, returning to him. “Maybe Al Pano’s for today. I’ll make you a list.”

“Milk and eggs.” He knocked on the refrigerator door twice, swaying on his feet and catching himself against the wall, shaking his head. “Now the room is spinning. I do not like a spinning room.”

I blinked, staring at the refrigerator as it began to overflow with white oblong spheres, apparently cascading out of the back wall on a river of milk. Eggs. Milk and eggs. I pulled Dorian out of the way and slammed the door to the refrigerator shut as milk sloshed against the window. I turned to him, eyes wide. “What?”

His beautiful eyes were rolled back, his breaths short and quick as he held onto the wall. “I’m afraid I might faint soon. I apologize in advance.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist, holding him as steady as I could manage as he slumped, unconscious, into my arms.

With some considerable effort, I managed to carry him to a sofa in the other room, my shoulders aching by the time I sat down next to him. Gods, but he was powerful. Even delirious and drugged, I could practically taste the magic seeping out of him now that he’d used it. Like the air after a thunderstorm, electric and intoxicating. 

“Dorian?” I rested my hand against his forehead, waiting for his eyelashes to flutter open again.

“Hello,” he mumbled. “I’m on the sofa.”

“You were about to fall.”

“You can’t keep me out of your lap,” he slurred, sly.

“Why would anyone want to?” I wondered, honestly.

Dorian laughed, resting his cheek on my thigh. “An excellent point.”

“No more spellcasting until your fever is gone,” I murmured, brushing a stray curl from his brow. “We’ll just order food from your apps. Can you handle that?”

“It didn’t go well?” he asked, eyes fluttering closed.

“You passed out.” I reminded him gently. “So no, not really.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever been this tired.” Dorian shivered, the pajama shirt clinging to him with sweat. 

“Good. Your body is trying to tell you it needs time to heal.” I touched his cheek gingerly. “Phone?”

He fumbled in his pocket for the device and handed it to me. Even his exhales had a crackle to them: thick, slow breaths. “Thank you.”

“Mmhmm.” I navigated to the app, scanning through the menu. Delicious looking flaky pastries, tartes, toasted sandwiches with eggs or jam. I ordered a few things from his previous orders along with some pastries for myself, letting Dorian doze on me until the order was ready.

The Maker only knew what we were supposed to do with a fridge full of eggs floating in milk. 

The doorbell sounded a moment before a text came through to announce the arrival of breakfast and I guided Dorian back to the kitchen to prepare his breakfast and then mine on smooth filigreed plates. 

Dorian ate the jammy eggs and toast with a sorrowful expression, occasionally sniffing at things with a grimace. “Weeks,” he mumbled, then looked to me. “How is it?”

“Delicious. Not as good as your Wilson, maybe, but good.” I smiled, resting my chin on my hand, sipping from the excellent coffee Dorian had offered me last night. “There are some studies that suggest breathing in strong scents like lemon and coffee for twenty seconds, thinking of memories you associate with them can help recover your senses.” I shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt.”

“I thought you didn’t want me drinking coffee,” he tucked the blanket around his shoulders a little closer, coughing into the washcloth again. 

“Not drinking it. Just trying to smell it.”

Dorian cleared his throat, leaning over to breathe the steam from my cup. “I know what it should smell like. Have you visited Antiva?”

“No, never. I’m assuming you have?”

Dorian grunted quietly, sitting back. “At least once a year. I have to keep my tan somehow.”

“I’ve, on multiple occasions, gotten sunburned while driving,” I admitted. “I’m not much of one for sand, either. It gets all up in your bits and you end up pouring it out of your shoes for weeks.”

“That’s a simple pair of wards.”

I rubbed my nose absently. “Simple for a man who summoned a lake of milk out of thin air, maybe.”

Dorian’s brow furrowed. “I’m out of sorts.”

“When you’re not, I imagine you’re a force to be reckoned with.”

“Ah. Well.” He shrugged, a timid smile curving his lips. “Yes, on all fronts.”

“Including modesty?” I wondered.

“Obviously.” His smile widened, bright white teeth below a ferociously red nose. “I am the most humble person I know. You could say I pride myself on it.”

I rolled my eyes with a chuckle. “You do somehow manage to pull it off.”

“Being exceptional has always been my curse to bear,” he sighed dolefully. “Apparently even my viruses are exceptional.”

It didn’t seem right to mention that his case seemed to be moderate, at worst, so I simply smiled and nodded, waiting for him to finish picking at his plate. “Do you have any idea what you want to do today? I could download some audiobooks from the library or pick up a puzzle or…?”

“A puzzle… I do have a puzzle box that’s been in my family for generations. I suppose I could try opening it. Although I imagine what’s inside of it might be best remaining locked away.”

“Ah… Maybe a movie, then?” They already had enough messes on their hands as it was. “Or a nap? How are you feeling now that you’ve eaten?”

“Tired,” Dorian admitted, “although I’ve been tired since I woke. It’s an unsettling sensation.” He blew his nose heartily into the cloth. “We do have a viewing room. I’ve only used it for presentations.”

“…a viewing room? What’s a viewing room?”

Dorian looked at me as though he were trying to deduce a complex answer to a complex question. “A room… in which one views things?” he inquired, nasal and stuffed up and scraggly. I’d never seen him without a hair out of place and the last hours I’d watched a slow progression of hair curling wildly and beard growing and wondered if that polished perfection weren’t in place to protect us from the chaos of his handsomeness. “You mentioned a film. We have a collection. I’ve not watched any of them, but I’ve been assured they’re all rather exemplary examples of their genres.”

“…you’ve never-“ I stared at him, completely befuddled. “And who are you referring to when you say ‘we’? I thought you said you were here alone?”

“We. The house.” He waved vaguely. “And, I suppose, you, as you are currently in the house. Have I mentioned how very nice it is to have you in the house?”

“Not in those exact words, though you did seem rather grateful last night.” I smiled, watching him gesture. Every movement was so smooth and elegant, even the way he brushed crumbs off of his corner of the kitchen table. He liked me. Dorian Pavus liked me. Maybe he was just sick and lonely- But he said he’d liked me before. So maybe it was real, after all. Maybe. “I don’t mind hearing you say it, though.”

“Well, it is nice.” Dorian sniffled, lifting his chin. “It is not quite the circumstances I would have chosen, I will admit, for your visit or your preference to an enjoyable evening, but we must make do.”

“Must we?” I wondered, blinking slowly. “I’m having a great time. You look extremely endearing with a chapped nose, all tousled and unkempt. I’m almost inclined to take a picture.”

“Gods above and below, I beg you not to. I am hoping very sincerely you will forget that I can look like this.”

“Really? That’d be a shame.” I winked, chuckling to myself. “You’re cute when you’re needy.”

“If you like that,” he paused to cough, “you’ll love me. I have been informed I am very needy indeed.”

“Who told you that?”

“My family. My tutors. I’m afraid it’s part of why I am in this confounded situation in the first place. Poor Collette is also quite needy and my teachers were often one of my main sources of solace at her age.”

“So you’re needy and compassionate.” I clutched my chest. “Oh, Dorian, you’re going to make me swoon.”

“I have tried to do so previously only to be very much rebuffed.”

“Have you. The times you asked me out, or others?”

“What others could there be? I’ve only seen you the twice.”

“I suppose that’s on me.” I shook my head, giddy. “I guess I didn’t think it was possible you’d actually want to go out with me.”

Dorian squinted at him, rubbing his nose with a salve. “Do people often ask you out without the desire to do so?”

“No, I mean-” I laughed again, shaking my head. “No, they don’t. It’s just- I’ve never in my life been asked out by someone who looks like you.” I ran a hand through my hair, which fell loose against my cheeks. “Can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you for what?” Dorian sniffled, gathering his apparently tasteless tea to himself. “Not having been asked out by men who look like me? There aren’t any. I am uniquely blessed by my genetics.”

“You are,” I agreed, smiling warmly. “Dinner from your favorite restaurant the next time I’m off and you’re back on your feet? And maybe- if you’re up for it- I do miss dancing.”

“Dancing I can do.” Dorian held out a hand. “I could dance now. How’s your waltz?”

“Probably not as good as yours, but I can follow a decent lead.” I rested mine atop his lightly. “You’re sure you’re feeling well enough? I don’t want you to get dizzy-“

He shook his head. “That’s the benefit of a slow dance,” he assured me, rising as he drew me over to him. Hand on my waist, his palm dry and warm against my own. Dorian glanced between my eyes. “Alright?”

It was my turn to feel oddly warm and dizzy. I nodded slowly, my gaze not leaving his. Glints of gold hid among the edges of his starlit eyes and I sighed. “Lead on, Maestro.”

“Maestro,” he chuckled. “Hardly. Altus, yes. Sorcerer, yes. Devastatingly handsome, obviously.” Dorian leaned in, brushing his nose gently against mine. He smelled of spices and herbs. His nose was still damp from the salve. “I would like the dinner. And the date. Thank you.”