#dorlen

The way Varlen admitted it… it was almost heartbreaking. No, there was no almost about it. He’d practically spoken the word to the floor, as though just saying it aloud confirmed something he had been trying to ignore; trying to hide.

Oh, that simply would not do.

Dorian closed his book with a soft thud, the pages so stiff they creaked like old wood underfoot. “Varlen…” He rose from his chair, bones protesting, muscles aching as he stood. He ignored it. “Amatus, look at me.”

Even Varlen’s body language, his arms wrapped around himself, screamed uncertainty. Discomfort. Shame. But at Dorian’s instruction, he did as asked, those pale blue eyes rising until they made connection across the empty space. Holding his gaze, Dorian began walking towards him, his approach slow and careful. As he moved, he began to speak, his words forming just as slowly and carefully as his steps.

“You know, I have met a lot of people who call themselves smart. Scholars. Politicians. Intellectuals, if you like. There are many such people, in places like Minrathous, who believe that the measure of a person’s worth lies in the depth of their lexicon. The breadth of their understanding of an absurdly narrow field. Their willingness to…” Dorian ground his teeth for a moment, but pressed on, the distance between himself and Varlen closing. “Their willingness to push the boundaries and discover the unknown at the expense of the moral. At the expense of themselves, and everyone around them.”

Varlen was shaking slightly. Dorian could see it now, as he came within a few feet of the elven man. It was something he should have – would have – noticed before, had his vision not been so closely aligned to the proximity of pages. 

“I don’t understand,” Varlen said softly. Even that small confession seemed to further ingrain his belief that he, for some unfathomable reason, was not enough.

But Maker, that was so far from the truth.

Reaching out, Dorian slid a hand past Varlen’s cheek, barely brushing his skin. His fingers nestled softly in his hair, caressing him, curling gently around the back of his neck as Varlen hung his head, seeming for all the world like a man about to break. And for what?

“Varlen… promise me you will never bow your head because of people like that.”

Confusion seemed to replace shame for a moment, and Varlen stiffened beneath Dorian’s touch. “What?”

“Promise me,” Dorian continued firmly, stepping in until they were so close he could feel the warmth of Varlen’s breath mingling with his. “That you will never think yourself inferior to people just because they know more words, or have read more books, or can recite dead languages to a room full of people just like them in everything save name.” He breathed out, tipping his head forward, gently touching Varlen’s forehead with his own. “I certainly don’t, amatus. Not for a single moment.”

There was something in Dorian’s voice; a plea mixed with a promise of his own. A rawness that might be because he was just too tired to cloak his words in bravado, or simply because he needed Varlen to believe what he said was true. And it was true. Every word of it.

Slowly, Varlen’s hand rose to wrap around Dorian’s arm, tentatively pulling him closer as though afraid the move would be met with rejection. It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I just… I know we’re so different. I keep thinking that… that it would be so much better for you, if you had someone who could actually help you.”

“You do help me.”

“How?”

Dorian’s free hand found Varlen’s; threaded their fingers together. “You keep me sane. Keep me grounded. You show me what it means to be open to people. To ideas. To change.” He gave a soft, endlessly fond laugh. “You show me which plants will leave my stomach in knots for days, and which will cure a headache. You show me every single day that there is more to this life than what I can learn on the pages of a book.” He smiled gently. “And might I say, no scholar, politician, or intellectual has ever been able to show me that.”

Varlen snorted, a faint smile curling his lips, a sheepishness to the expression that sent Dorian’s heart to its knees. “Even sleep-deprived and stir-crazy, you somehow manage to be disgustingly charming.” Dorian chuckled at that, and Varlen released a slow breath, some of the tension in his shoulders flooding out with it. “It’s just hard, to feel like you can’t be something. It’s like to be smart, you have to fit certain criteria. You have to be worldly and knowledgeable and wise and you need to have learned from the right books and listened to the right people speak and… a lot of other things I’ve never done.”

Dorian just shook his head, his hand tightening slightly around Varlen’s. “You know, I have it on remarkably good authority that very few smart people fit that criteria either. But that is beside the point.” He leaned back slightly to look Varlen in the eyes. To really look, and see the man who had won his heart with a smile moments after they met, and kept winning it over and over again every day since. He did it with who he was. With what he did, and continues to do. With the way he treats others and the way he faces the world time and time again, no matter what it throws at him. “So, if you want my opinion, no. You’re not smart, Varlen...” Dorian leaned in and kissed him, their lips lingering even as he felt Varlen’s brow crease in brief confusion at the mixed message. “You’re brilliant. Charming. Bright and with endless wit.”

Varlen’s hands shifted to wrap around Dorian, pulling him closer as he let out a  quiet laugh. “Yeah, like you’re one to talk. I think I got a lot of it from you, you know.”

But Dorian just shook his head, caressing Varlen’s face with his hand. “No. You are you, Varlen. And with every dusty tome in this god-awful place as my witness, there is no one else I have ever learned more from.” He smiled, then kissed him again. Varlen made a quiet sound - something like a sigh - his hands loose and relaxed on Dorian’s back as they held each other, awash with the warmth and relief of being in one another’s embrace.

In the end, it didn’t need to be said, but Dorian said it anyway. He said it because it was the truth. He said it because his heart demanded him to.

He said it for all the times in Varlen’s life when he hadn’t heard it.

“I know,” Varlen said hurriedly, not intending to guilt Dorian for what had happened, “I’m just saying, that’s why I came here instead…” He trailed off, glancing down at the desk suspiciously. “Unless you’ve stuck wardings and sigils around here, too. In which case, I should probably know about them so I don’t set any off…”

A smooth chuckle rolled up Dorian’s throat and he leaned in, gently taking Varlen by the chin and guiding their lips together. “Amatus, there isn’t a spell in existence that could keep you out, and frankly if there were, I would not cast it.”

Varlen hummed appreciatively as he stole a second kiss from Dorian. “Good,” he murmured after a moment, then drew away, smiling. He paused, eyes on the mage, expression thoughtful, then continued, “Do you want to know why I’m really here?”

Dorian arched a brow. “Only if you wish to tell me.”

As someone who had always been hopeless with keeping a secret, Varlen broke under what could be described as the smallest application of pressure. “I got you something. For the new year.”

“The new year?” Dorian cocked his head. “I didn’t know such a thing was celebrated with gift giving. Had I known…”

“No! I mean, it normally isn’t.” Reaching out, Varlen took Dorian’s hands in his, thumbs rubbing soothingly across his skin. “I just wanted to. I figured you might like it. It’s nothing big or anything, just something I thought of the other day and…”

Varlen trailed off with a sigh and shifted, uncovering the drawer. Dorian glanced from his amatus to the desk until Varlen, red-cheeked, gave a quiet groan. “Please, just… put me out of my misery. I’ve made enough of an ass of myself already.”

Laughing quietly, Dorian did as asked, opening the drawer to find a brown paper bundle tucked rather awkwardly among the papers and quills. “What is this?” he asked, gently coaxing it free of its prison. When Varlen just rolled his eyes and made a ripping gesture, Dorian placed the parcel on the desk and unwrapped it, revealing an assortment of barks, glass vials filled with some kind of tiny crystals, and a strong-smelling cylinder of what appeared to be tea. “Quite the care package,” Dorian noted fondly, glancing at Varlen. “Are you worried about me, amatus?”

Varlen shifted slightly. “You’ve been working harder than ever. I just thought I’d get you some things to help you relax.” He pointed to the bark. “If you burn that, the scent is meant to help with stress. The crystals are for the bath - happy to show you how those work, by the way. And the tea… well, it’s tea. It’s warm and it tastes good.”

Humming appreciatively, Dorian set the gift aside and returned to Varlen, maneuvering himself between the elven man’s legs and embracing him. “Thank you, amatus. That is… all very thoughtful.”

Varlen could hear the sincerity in Dorian’s voice; feel the man’s exhaustion as he leaned against him, the embrace turning into something of a collapse as he rested his head on Varlen’s shoulder. Gently, Varlen pressed a kiss to the side of Dorian’s head.

“How about we try out those bath crystals, hmm? I think you’ve done enough for today, vhenan.”

Softly, faintly, Dorian mumbled his agreement, but didn’t seem inclined to move. Smiling warmly, Varlen just let him rest against his chest for a time, hands running soothingly up and down the mage’s back.