Chapter Text
The first letter arrives discreetly, written on plain parchment and sealed in a plain envelope, with a generic flower-crest stamp on the wax. It is addressed to the Inquisitor, and once Leliana is certain there's nothing suspicious about it (aside from it being so humble, unusual for anything coming out of Orlais), she remits it to her care without further interest.
Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan,
It is my understanding that Ser Dorian Pavus has aligned himself with your cause in such a way that has estranged him from his family, so please accept my most sincere apologies if I have sent this letter to you in error; I am a man of tradition, and this is as tradition demands.
During the festivities at the Winter Palace, I had the most fortunate pleasure of meeting Ser Pavus. I found his company most delightful, and the memories of our meeting (as well as your own stellar performance) that night have lent a comforting bit of light and color in my heart that would otherwise have been darkened by the machinations of the Duchess Florianne, and the lingering threats looming over Thedas.
Now that those threats have been neatly swept aside by your ladyship, I have had time to revisit those memories, and I find I would make new ones to go with them. As I mentioned, I attempted to contact Ser Pavus' family to seek what I now ask of you, but I received no worthwhile reply.
I would like your blessing that I may properly and honorably court Ser Pavus, if he will have me. My land holdings are modest, but I assure you my family line is a respectable one, and I am a wealthy man. I am also a widower, having lost my beloved Adelise to childbirth bringing my youngest into the world. I confess that part of my reason for writing you is that I mourned my Adelise for a long, long while after her death. He could not have known it at the time, but he brought a true, sincere smile to my face for the first time in two years, and I would be a fool not to at least reach out to him again.
Most sincerely,
Everard de Falaise.
Trevelyan sighs. Since when is the Inquisitor a mail service, or a Tevinter's doting mother? But she sets it aside. In an odd way she feels obligated to take it seriously, particularly because, however distant it might be, the Trevelyans are connected to the Pavus bloodline. If Halward elected not to dignify this man's request with a response, then as the highest-ranked member of Dorian's family at Skyhold, it does technically fall to her to decide.
She gets up from her desk and makes her way downstairs. Before any decisions are made, Dorian should know.
--
"Well, it's obviously some kind of trap." Dorian dismisses the very notion out of hand without even looking up from the bookshelf. "Regardless, this 'courtship' business is unnerving. What does he expect me to do? Blush and titter like some idiot princess? Pine away in a tower, waiting for his next artfully-arranged bouquet of flowers, perfume, and bullshit? Does he think sending poetry to the Inquisition's token Tevinter would be an exciting scandal?" He grabs three volumes off the shelf, tosses them into his armchair, and begins restlessly re-arranging the other six in the set. "Or is this someone's idea of a lazy prank?"
Trevelyan sighs and leans against the wall. "Leliana didn't suspect anything when she checked the letter out," she points out. "Who is this man, anyway?"
"Inquisitor, if I could recall every person whose day was brightened by my being delightful company, I'd have to forget how to walk to make room for all the names," he spits.
"Apparently, you made more of an impression on this one than most. Do you really not recall anyone you spoke to at the Winter Palace?" She steps away long enough to collect the discarded books and hand them back to the rattled mage, steely gaze fixed on his and utterly unfazed by his grousing. "If it really is a trap, it would help if we knew where to start looking for leads, and if it isn't, I need an idea of how firm I need to be in dismissing him."
Dorian takes a breath, collects himself, and then gently takes the books back to return them to their places on the library shelf. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be belligerent about this, it's just that this is not something I can take seriously," he explains. "But now that I think of it, I did... pass a bit of time with some courtier while I was there. Tall, with a mask that had a garnet at the corner of each eye. Melancholy fellow, I remember wishing we'd brought Cole along to help him."
"Sounds consistent with a widower in mourning," Trevelyan muses.
"Widower?" The mage frowns in deep disapproval. "He was married?"
"And has children. I'd show you the letter to see for yourself, but I gave it to Josephine on the off chance she might know the name." She reaches for his shoulder, and watches him slump a little, one arm propping him up against the stone wall.
"There's... another thing to consider, Dorian."
"What else could there possibly be, Inquisitor? Is he a templar? A darkspawn? Both?"
"No, nothing like that. That I know of, anyway." The Inquisitor braces for it, half-smiling at her own thin joke, and then says, calmly, "He wrote to your family for their blessing first."
Dorian spins on his heel, hands flourishing in derision so hard the embellishments on his clothes clink, the vitriol practically dripping down his chin like the grease from a bad cut of meat as he speaks. "Oh, that must have been just charming, I wish I could have been there to see my father read it! 'Dear Magister Pavus, I would like to compose a ballad about your son! And twine daisies in his hair while we prance about the fields naked and astride a unicorn, hope you won't mind! Kisses and tickles, some Orlesian fop." He steps away from the shelves, suddenly disinterested in fussing about with books and alphabetical order.
Trevelyan can't suppress her laughter, and shakes her head. "I meant that he wrote your family to ask for their blessing, obviously didn't get it, and then wrote me instead," she explains, and moves to join him, leaning against the bannister on her forearms. "You may not take this man seriously, Dorian, but he definitely seems serious about you. I've met your father. I wouldn't want to be a minor noble of anywhere and risk crossing him, let alone risk crossing him once by asking to court his son, and a second time by making it clear that the lack of that blessing wouldn't stop me."
The mage sighs, defeated. "Then what would you have me do, Inquisitor?"
"The letter says he wants my blessing to court you, if you'll have him," she explains, gently. "I won't pretend I always have the best judgment, but he seems sincere, and if it pans out, this is a relationship you would never have in Tevinter. If the idea of... a "traditional" courtship, whatever that is, doesn't appeal to you, I'll just have Sera tell him to piss off and that'll be the end of it, but I'd rather you not throw away a chance at happiness."
They're quiet for a long while, the rotunda echoing with footsteps and pages turning and the coming-and-going of Leliana's birds. For the Altus overlooking it all, it's bizarre; a conversation in the open about a man seeking to openly court another man with the blessing of his family, and yet no one here has batted an eye. Naturally there'll be rumors and scandal and whatnot, but it's the "courtship" part that warrants the gossip, not the "between two men" part.
He looks to his side, regarding Trevelyan's warm, encouraging smile, and that sense of drive and determination returns to him. He's already decided he'll go back to Tevinter to bring the whole damn Imperium to heel, but change is a slow, lumbering beast, and it would be a rare Tevinter gentleman who could love him through all the scandal. Or love him openly enough to ask anyone for anything over it, for that matter.
Dorian straightens again, folds his arms over his chest. "Then here is my decision, Inquisitor: I'll accept this... Everard de whatever's courtship, on the conditions that Josephine can verify his identity and Leliana can confirm he has no ulterior motives. If he passes inspection, then you may go ahead and inform him that I prefer satin to silk, red wine to white, and I will not eat anything with ghoul's beard in it."
Trevelyan smiles. "I'll check in at the war table about it tonight and get the matter squared away. I do hope this man knows what he's getting into."
"My friend," Dorian muses, "he petitioned the Herald of Andraste to endorse his courtship of her distant cousin and the lone Tevinter pariah of the Inquisition's inner circle. He either has no idea what he's doing, or he's the most arrogant prat in Orlais."
She laughs, and something about the genuine mirth about it puts a smile on Dorian's face; it's odd, considering that they've only known each other a short while, but it's comforting to have that little bit of filial camaraderie here, so far from home. She turns on her heel and heads for the stairs to Josephine's office, patting his shoulder on her way.
"One more thing, Inquisitor," he says.
"Yes?"
"See if you can find out what exactly my father said to him."