Archive of Our Own ^beta

~ 9:38, Dragon, Pavus Estate ~

 Look at me, I am old, but I'm happy
I was once like you are now, and I know that it's not easy
To be calm when you've found something going on

But take your time, think a lot
Why, think of everything you've got
For you will still be here tomorrow
But your dreams may not

We’ve found the boy, Magister.

~ C

He poured himself a glass of wine, and his hands shook as he drained his cup. It wouldn’t be long now. His son would return home after months living on the rough streets of Minrathous - he only wished that it would have been the homecoming every parent could look forward too.

It must have been past midnight when Halward finally heard poundings on the front door. There were voices, loud and high with agitation. Swiftly, he made his way down the lonely hallway, his footsteps barely echoing upon the stony floor.

When he reached the top of the stairways, he could see Dorian standing by his captors. Fresh off a boat and, as rumours would have it, from the bedroom of his latest conquest. His eyes, so much like his father’s, were wild and defiant - and the dark smudges beneath them stood out against his pale face, whether from lack of sleep or khol, Halward did not know.

The boy knew better than to resist. Halward had taken great troubles (and a lot of coin) to find those highly trained in magic to subdue him when necessary. From the bruises on Dorian’s face and arms, he could see that his boy had put up a fierce fight. While they were somewhat restrained during their mission, they were not gentle. Anger began to burn in Halward’s chest - whether towards his son or the mercenaries, he did not know.

“Thank you for your efforts,” he said instead, his voice cold.

The mercenaries nodded, performed a salute, and left into the dead of the night without another word.

“I didn’t think you’d actually resort to getting hired help to reclaim me, Father. I was in the middle of something, you know.” Dorian’s voice rang out like a bell in the empty house. The Magister made his way down the stairs but Dorian was not finished. “I hope you intend to compensate that Lord, somehow. Your henchmen took down the guards while I was busy fucking his son.”

“That’s enough,” his father said, his voice sounding almost unbearably loud. “You will return to your quarters. We will speak further tomorrow.”

“We have nothing to discuss.”

“Dorian,” Halward said, and as his anger turned into a keen sense of desperation. “Have you no sense of decency or considerations for me as your father?”

“None whatsoever,” came the retort as he walked purposely towards the sanctuary and prison of his room. Halward pursued him, determined to reach out. To make him understand .

“You’re my son. My only son. I raised you with these two hands. I cared for you and gave you everything you ever needed or wanted. And this is how you repay me?”

Stop.

“I wasn’t aware your… considerations were something you’re expecting payments for,” Dorian said, his insolent air of indifference quickly giving way to contempt.

Stop this.  

“Ungrateful boy,” Halward snapped, “Why are you so selfish? All this time, I’ve done all I could to give you the best of everything!”

“If you want what’s best for me, then stop trying to FIX me!” Dorian screamed. There as a stunned silence as Halward watched Dorian tremble before him, looking as if he might cry before steeling himself once again.

Without another word, his boy turned around abruptly and disappeared into his room. The door slammed, and Halward was left standing alone in deafening silence of his house.

***

~ 9:39, Dragon, Pavus Estate ~

How can I try to explain
Cause when I do he turns away again
It's always been the same, same old story

From the moment I could talk I was ordered to listen
Now there's a way and I know that I have to go away

The year came and went, but his father’s anger had not dissipated. Since his visit to the young Lord back at Minrathous, Dorian had been stripped of his monthly stipend, and was all but confined to the Pavus estate. He was not allowed visitors nor leave his home for fear that he might be, according to his father, "up to mischief". His stash of coins had all but dwindled and they were safely locked away in his drawers.  Servants hovered around him both night and day, looking embarrassed, averting their eyes, as if they were sorry for the predicament he was in.

“Can’t even take a piss without him knowing,” Dorian muttered bitterly to himself, as he lay on his bed, trying to read a book. Winter had come, and a cold air that no fire could warm had seeped into the very stones in his house. The hours yawned before him, and every day seemed to stretch into eternity. 

This is not working. 

How long was it since he had spoken to his father? Months, it seems. It was unbearably lonely, and Dorian had a mad thought of breaking his father’s door down just to scream at him again. Halward, however, was locked in his studies and refused to meet him. His mother was, of course, nowhere to be found.

Today was a little different. There were voices in the hallway, and when Dorian had poked his head out of his room, he saw three men following his father into the study. Halward’s eyes caught his for the moment, and the expression on his father’s face darkened a little before he closed the door firmly behind him.

Alarms when off in his head. His father had refused close friends and family after Dorian’s stunning display of debauchery last year. For him to accept three strangers into his private study was unheard of. He stopped a servant (who was steadfastly avoiding his eyes) as she was making her way towards the kitchen to prepare some refreshments for their unlikely guests. Her name was Devera, and she had been with the family since before Dorian was born.

“Devera, are we expecting guests?” he whispered to his trusty servant, his eyes darting towards his father’s door, still stubbornly closed.

When Dorian saw her face turning white as a sheet, his heart fell to the floor.

Leave tonight or live and die this way.

“What are their names?” he asked instead, his voice cracking as he spoke.

There were three men, the elven woman explained. Magister Halward had arranged for a meeting with them in secret for fear of causing a scandal. Cerastes, Harach, Nomaran they were called. Dorian repeated them to himself till they were embedded into his brain like a brand. Those were the names of known Maleficars within the Imperium - experts in the art of blood magic and members of the Venatori.

“So it has come to this then,” he said as fear and anger washed through him like a fiery tempest.

Leave tonight or live and die this way.

Without another word, he grabbed his winter coat as well as the last of his savings from his drawer before striding firmly towards his father’s room.

“Master Dorian,” Devera was saying, her eyes and nose red and looking as if she was going to cry. She hurried after him, tugging helplessly at his robes. Still, Dorian would not be stopped. With a deep breath, he waved his hand and conjured a massive force spell that blasted his father’s door into splinters.

His father was seated at his desk. Dorian vaguely remembered being five, settling on his father’s lap as he watched Halward at work. It was a distant memory now as he slammed his hands on Halward’s desk, and brought his face close to his father’s.  

The Maleficars made a motion as if to attack, but Halward raised a hand to stop them.

“I’m leaving. I want no part of whatever you have in store for me,” Dorian gritted out, his teeth clenched so hard his veins stood out in cords on his neck.

“Dorian,” his father began to say, but Dorian could no longer listen. Blood was rushing in his ears, and he could hear nothing but his own pain.

Leave tonight, or live and die this way.

“You have no hold over me, and I cannot be bought with your gold, so I’m leaving. The only way you’ll stop me from getting out of this fucking house is if you killed me. It’s better than being kept like a prized stallion waiting to be bred with a mare.”

Halward snapped and swiftly got his feet. His open palm smashed so hard against Dorian’s face that his son staggered back, tasting blood in his mouth. Their steely eyes glared at each other in challenge, faces so similar it was as if they were both looking in mirrors.

“Get out,” Halward finally said, his voice going quiet. Dorian knew that Halward meant every word. “You’re no son of mine.”

Wordlessly, Dorian turned on his heels and left his father’s study.

Cheek stinging and face wet, he walked by his room and past his weeping servants. He continued down the long and lavish flights of steps, through the halls of his family and with nothing more than the clothes on his back - Dorian Pavus walked right out his father's front door. Even when marbled floor gave way into the cobblestones of the streets, still he walked - leaving footprints in the snow and never once looking back.

I'm on my own now.

***

~ 9:41, Dragon, Skyhold ~  

All the times that I cried
Keeping all the things I knew inside
It's hard, but it's harder to ignore it

If they were right, I'd agree
But it's them they know not me
Now there's a way and I know that I have to go away

Skyhold was calm at night. The hustle and bustle of life in the fortress was certainly enough to wear anyone out - and so Dorian welcomed the peace that darkness brought him. The lamps were lit, and the interior of the castle was basked in a warm, comforting glow from the flickering flames.

Pity no one thought it prudent to perfume the rooms. Ferelden smelled like wet dog and shit.

The library, especially, was quiet, and it was there Dorian chose to spend his late nights devouring his books. Fiona had long since retreated to her chambers, bidding him a polite if not distant goodnight before retreating into the shadows. There were the occasional rustling of papers as Solas shuffles through ancient manuscripts at his desk, but he too disappeared, leaving nothing but a single candle almost burned down into a stump.

Tonight was different. Tonight, Dorian sat drinking at his usual corner, accompanied by a little lamp and a book. It was one of Varric’s - incredibly silly and scandalous, but it did absolutely nothing to calm the storm in his heart and mind. So Dorian stared at the pages, watching the words swim before him like little fish in the lake near his home in Qarinus.

It had been days since the last confrontation with his father in Redcliffe, and it took every last bit of energy from him. Dorian drank again from his bottle. He was contemplating pilfering more wine from the Inquisition’s cellar, but footsteps coming up the stairway distracted him from his thoughts.

“Isn’t it a little too late for you to be roaming about Skyhold, Bull?” Dorian called out into the semi-darkness before the Qunari emerged, carrying a plateful of food. From the looks of it, Bull had carried with him a meal fit for two Qunaris - it was loaded with fruits, cheeses, breads and some grey mess that might have been meat.

Bull shrugged and grinned, before beginning to set the plate down on Dorian’s table. The mage made a half-hearted protest about his book getting dirty, and hastily placed it onto his lap.

“Didn’t see you at dinner,” came the deep rumble as Bull, to Dorian’s surprise, decided to settle down opposite him.

“Didn’t feel hungry,” Dorian admitted, reaching out for a piece of cheese. His stomach rumbled in anticipation. He realised that he hadn’t eaten all day.

“Didn’t see you at several dinners,” Bull said, looking at him pointedly before helping himself to some fruit.

“Oh, are we sharing these then?” Dorian teased, “Here I thought you were being thoughtful and had brought me a meal to last for several days.”

Bull chuckled and helped himself to Dorian’s wine. The mage protested once again, a little more passionately this time.

“You doing alright?” Bull said, carefully looking hard down onto their plate for the ripest grape in the bunch to eat. Dorian paused, felt his heart fall into his stomach, before shrugging.

“If you’re making reference to whatever happened at Radcliffe - I’d say I am fine. It’s been a week. I’ll get over it,” Dorian said as he frowned into his hands, barely noticing they were clenched into tight fists. Bull remained silent, patiently waiting for Dorian to continue.

“We’ve had these arguments before, my father and I. It's been going on for as far as I can remember. It’s really nothing new.”

“Doesn’t mean it hurts less every time it happens,” Bull said, his voice quiet. Dorian felt tears prickled behind his eyelids, and grew angry. He snorted.

“I didn’t think you’d be bothered about this, to be honest. You don’t seem the kind to be terribly affected by family disputes. You don’t even have one.”

Bull looked at him, his expression almost steely, but his voice was kind.  

“Maybe, but I know what it’s like to disappoint people who cared about me. I grew up with my Tama back in Par Vollen. She comforted me, cared for me, raised me with her own two hands and was the kindest person I've ever known. She saw me as a kid, not another soldier, and she’s the only one who knew the person I was before I became Ben-Hassrath. So trust me when I say - as someone just recently declared Tal Vashoth - I get it.”

It was Dorian’s turn to be silent, but Bull wasn’t finished.

“I’ve always wanted her approval, so right now? This feels like shit. Doubt it’ll ever go away but you know - I just wanted to tell you that you don’t have to be alone.”

Dorian smiled, oddly touched.

“Well, that’s quite a passionate speech you made there. Didn’t think you’d have it in you.”

It was Bull’s turn to snort.

“Hey, you know me. I’m nothing if not passionate. Look, I care about my people. A lot. And I care… that you’re not eating right. That you’re stuck here all day, avoiding friends. You don’t have to keep pretending that things are alright. It’s okay to be mad, as long as you know that we got your back.”

Dorian did tear up this time, and Bull rummaged around in his pocket to pull out a well-washed handkerchief the size of (in Dorian’s mind) a tablecloth.

“Really, now. A handkerchief? You never cease to surprise me,” Dorian said with a sniffle, as he dabbed the corners of his eyes with it.

“It's a hit with the ladies,” Bull muttered, clearing his throat as Dorian laughed.

“I thought you just needed coin for that.”

They grinned at each other and then quietly snickered like school boys. Dorian paused for a while before speaking.

"I love my father. He was everything I aspired to be," the mage said, tracing the grains on the wooden table with a finger, his brows furrowing a little. "You know, I used to sit on his lap, just watching him work when he was in his study. Once, I was wailing and carrying on about a broken toy - a wooden duck with wheels, I think. Servants chased me round the entire house trying to calm me down."

Bull chuckled as Dorian smiled at the memory.

"I was so young, no more than six, perhaps. Father was meeting some important members from the Magisterium in his room, and there I was - a little terror on legs barging into his room, screaming at the top of my lungs about a damn duck. He didn't even blink an eye. He just lifted me up, put me on his lap and carried on the meeting like it was normal."

Bull laughed this time, loudly and heartily while Dorian scowled at him in play.

"Shit, my Tama would have knocked me on my ass if I did that," Bull said with a chuckle. "I was always a handful as a kid though. Once I left the vegetables on my plate at lunch, and she told me I couldn't go out to play if I don't eat two more items. So I took out two pieces of meat I hid in my pockets, looked her in the eye, ate them and ran off."

Dorian laughed till he cried, while Bull beamed in his direction.

“Hey, Dorian. I’m heading to dinner with the boys. Do you want to come?”

“Again? Didn’t we just eat?” Dorian said, his tone incredulous, looking pointedly at the unfinished food before them.

“Nah, this was just a snack,” Bull answered, slapping his round belly before making a move to stand up on his feet. He winced and sighed happily as his back issued an ungodly crack when he stretched. “Someone caught some ram, and they’re making stew.”

“And after?” Dorian continued, raising an eyebrow full of meaning.

“Yeah, after, we’ll get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”

As if on cue, Dorian protested again (“What, just sleep ?”) as Bull chuckled and wrapped Dorian in a tight embrace, almost lifting the mage off the floor when he did. It startled Dorian, but the contact was not unwelcome. Bull was warm, and as Dorian buried his face into the Qunari’s neck, he could feel Bull’s pulse beating beneath his lips. Rhythmic. Strong. Steady. Echoing the pitter pattering of his own heart.  

“I got you. We can talk after dinner. All night, if you want,” Bull murmured into Dorian’s hair and then pressing a hard kiss on his cheek. “You’re not alone.”

When they parted, Bull’s face had softened in a way Dorian hadn’t seen before. So when Bull extended his hand, Dorian didn't hesitate to slip his into that big, warm palm. They shared a smile and then, hand in hand, they too disappeared into the dark leaving the silence of the room behind them.

~*~*~*~