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Leo walked silently next to Dorian, stealing worried glances and making his best effort not to be noticed. Dorian’s face belied almost nothing, just an emptiness subsuming the mask of mild interest and shrewd observance that usually lay there. They’d soon be back at the Crossroads to collect Varric and Cassandra to start the trek back to Skyhold, and Dorian hadn’t yet told him what happened after he left him alone with his father in the Gull and Lantern.
You tried to change me–he heard that much of the story. The thought made Leo’s stomach turn; for anyone, let alone a parent, to resort to a blood ritual to fundamentally change someone they loved was… beyond his comprehension. He was fairly sure his parents hated him, and he knew they’d never try to change or control him in that way, even barring the blood magic. His heart broke for Dorian, seeing the anguish in his eyes, hearing the raw anger in his voice. You tried to change me. The way he said it was crushing, full of desperation and an immeasurable depth of pain… and Halward barely seemed to react.
And the way Halward spoke to Leo-as if Dorian were just an unreasonable child, as if he were surely a burden to the Inquisition, and then finally, dripping with disdain as he drew his own conclusions about why Leo had accompanied Dorian to meet him. He barely held his righteous anger at bay, wanting dearly to shear Halward’s head clean off his shoulders for what he’d done to Dorian, and for daring to try to make Leo ashamed to be associated with him. I’d be lucky to have someone like him, he’d said, a reflex he almost immediately regretted, because it certainly wouldn’t help the situation. Dorian only cast a brief glance his way in response, but it was full of surprise and disbelief.
He convinced Dorian to hear his father out–not to accept what he said, not to forgive. But maybe the conversation would give him some kind of closure, a way to cut through the self-loathing that he seemed to be able to hide from everyone but Leo, because self-loathing was an old friend. It was advice perhaps born of his wish to be given such a chance by his own family, a fact which he reflected on while he waited for Dorian. Selfish, as usual, he’d thought. After half an hour or so, the tavern door banged open and Dorian stalked out. “We’re done here,” was all he said, and he made a beeline for the road out of town.
Leo had been nervous to leave Dorian alone in the tavern, lest Halward actually try to knock him over the head and spirit him away back to Tevinter. Even before they knew it was Halward waiting inside, and not some nameless family retainer, Dorian seemed truly worried about this eventuality. Just as he’d promised he’d protect Leo the last time they were in Redcliffe, Leo had grasped his hand briefly and told him he’d never, under any circumstances, let that happen. It left Dorian speechless, and Leo teased him for it. But in that moment, something unspoken passed between them, and he realized that there was nothing for it: Dorian Pavus was going to cause him a lot of trouble. It might be good trouble, but trouble nonetheless.
He often wondered since waking up after Haven, since being pressed against Dorian on the rickety cot so that he didn’t freeze to death, about whether Dorian might return his feelings. Up to then, he’d seen him flirt with everyone, but he seemed so… familiar that night, in every sense of the word. Unrestrained in what he said and the simple touches he bestowed, but also in that his being there felt right, natural. Well, unrestrained in what he said, except for the part where he left out his “histrionics,” as Cullen called it, how he’d pushed and pushed for them to keep looking for Leo. That felt like an omission that could mean almost anything–he didn’t want Leo to get the wrong idea, or he didn’t want him to get the right idea for some reason.
Leo was brought back to the present as the Crossroads came into view and he heard Dorian sigh deeply beside him. He looked at him then, and saw that the empty look had melted into one of exhausted despair.
“I wish there were something I could do to make this better,” Leo said quietly, unsure. He wouldn’t ask if Dorian was all right; how could someone be all right after that?
Dorian huffed, an almost-laugh, and stopped in his tracks. “I don’t know if it can be made better. Some things are…” he gestured vaguely, as if trying to pull the right word from the air. “Unforgivable.” He said it quietly, shaking his head, eyes to the ground. Leo knew that better than most. “But thank you for the thought, all the same.”
Leo only hummed in response, letting the silence hang for him to continue if he wished.
A brief but warm smile crossed Dorian’s features. “I’m sorry I involved you in all of this. I never expected it to be the man himself in that tavern. You shouldn’t have had to bear the weight of my father’s insinuations, nor the shame of such an association with me. Maker knows what you must think of me now.”
“The shame of an…” Leo shook his head minutely, incredulous. “Dorian, I don’t think less of you. More, if possible. I think you’re brave to walk your own path, and it’s an enormous privilege to play a small part in it.”
Leo’s heart hammered in his chest; where had all that come from? It was true, of course, but that he’d managed to get it all out without stumbling and stammering was among the greater miracles in recent memory. He swallowed thickly, stepping closer to pull Dorian to the side of the road.
Dorian, for his part, stared at him with a look of amazement, and something else–head cocked, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. “The things you say…” It was breathless, just barely above a whisper.
“I meant every word,” he replied earnestly. “You’re extraordinary.” He felt suddenly brave and reached out a hand, smiling gently at Dorian. And when Dorian took it, he pulled him close and kissed him softly, tentatively, giving him the space to pull back if he wished.
He didn’t. He snaked his arms around Leo’s waist to pull him closer, angling his head to deepen the kiss, letting out a sound between a sigh and a whimper.
They stayed that way for only a moment before panic bubbled in Leo’s chest, and he backed off, all at once worried he’d overstepped. “Dorian, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that–”
Instead of a reply, Dorian tightened his grip on his waist and pressed his lips to Leo’s. The kiss was desperate, clumsy, breathless, their bodies pressed close together as Leo’s hand came to rest on the back of Dorian’s neck–
Hoofbeats and the clatter of a wagon approached, and Dorian broke off the kiss quickly, backing away a step. Their eyes met, and the adrenaline and the absurdity of being caught out like teenagers sent them both into fits of laughter, Leo blushing a deep crimson. As the wagon passed, the woman driving shot them a knowing smile, just barely suppressing her own laugh. It was Dorian’s turn to blush, then.
The wagon rounded the corner and the two were left alone again, finally stifling their laughter after a time. Leo reached out for Dorian’s hand, running his thumb along his knuckles. “I just meant, I shouldn’t take advantage, after what happened today.”
“It’s hardly taking advantage, and anyway, I highly doubt that’s in your nature,” Dorian tittered, squeezing his hand. Leo couldn’t stop the bark of a laugh that escaped his mouth. “I appreciate the concern, but no, I have very much wished to do that for some time now.” Leo could only squeeze his eyes shut and smile broadly, like an idiot. “I just wasn’t sure how you felt about it, at least not until today.” He leaned in and planted a kiss on Leo’s cheek. “But you saved the day from being a total loss, anyway.”
Leo raised his eyebrows, blinking innocently. “That must have been some kiss.”
“You were there, if I’m not mistaken, but I’ll have to jog your memory later,” he said with a smirk, giving Leo’s hand a final squeeze before letting go and taking off at a leisurely pace toward the Crossroads.
They walked down the hill in companionable silence, a faint smile turning up the corners of Dorian’s mouth. He bumped shoulders with Leo, some small, affectionate contact. “Thank you for coming with me,” he said, “And for standing up for me. Few people have been willing to do that in my life.” He looked Leo in the eye as he said it, bare and genuine fondness there, but the empty look quickly crept back. “I think my father is truly sorry for what he did… but I don’t think I can forgive him. He’ll always want me to be a man I can never be.”
“He’s a fool for wanting you to be different,” Leo said simply, just as they passed the first group of merchants on the outskirts of the Crossroads. The empty look faltered, replaced momentarily by something unreadable that made Leo’s heart flutter. He briefly squeezed Dorian’s shoulder and strode ahead to where Varric and Cassandra were speaking with an Inquisition soldier.
Dorian stood frozen in place. What have you gotten yourself into, Pavus?
*******
The round trip to Redcliffe only took about five days, but for Varric, it was among the longest five hundred years of his life. No one spoke much, in spite of Varric’s valiant attempts to spur conversation with questions pointedly not about anyone’s family. He wasn’t sure what happened in that tavern–and decided not to ask anything other than whether anyone needed a kiss from Bianca–but it was clear that Sparkler was very much not all right.
Something had happened between him and the Inquisitor, given the way they watched each other when they thought no one was looking, and the small, dreamy smiles he caught on the Inquisitor’s face despite the stony silence of the journey. A star-crossed romance was always good for a story, but Varric didn’t much care for the idea that the two people in the star-crossed romance were his friends. But then, he’d seen arguably worse situations work out–for one, Hawke’s boyfriend being the man who blew up the Kirkwall Chantry and started a war–so maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.
Cassandra, too, was worried about Dorian, even if she’d never admit to it; she spoke to him gently, trying to draw him out into conversation about the Grand Necropolis, or even the terrible romance novels she’d disavow all knowledge of if questioned by anyone else. He was polite, but obviously not interested in talking, so she gave up before long. He rode at the back of their group, and Leo occasionally fell behind to say something Cassandra couldn’t catch, but he never stayed long.
When she asked him what happened that night at camp–Dorian had already retreated to his tent–Leo had only said that it was his father waiting in the Gull and Lantern, not a family retainer. “It’s not my story to tell, but he’s safe,” he’d said with a warm smile that let her know she wasn’t being dismissed.
The Inquisitor’s affection for Dorian was obvious to anyone who spent any time around the two of them, and it was also obvious Dorian genuinely cared for him, which at first made it easier for Cassandra to tolerate his constant complaining and occasional petty sniping. But Maker help her, she’d actually grown to like the man. The way he teased her reminded her of her brother, who she still missed every day. Seeing him so deflated and obviously in pain was difficult, and she wished she knew what happened in the tavern so she could instead feel righteous anger at whatever his father had done.
Nonetheless, it all gave her serious pause. For the leader of the Inquisition, an organization actively trying to stop Tevinter cultists bent on destroying the world, being involved with a man from Tevinter was perhaps not a sound political strategy. It could seriously undermine the organization’s reputation and authority in the South if word got out.
But also… she couldn’t deny the romance of it all, and she was secretly rooting for them. She tried not to think of it like one of Varric’s stories, because these were two people–two friends–living real lives in the midst of unspeakable horrors, and just trying to get by. Leo deserved some happiness, which was hard to come by even in normal times. He constantly gave so much of himself and asked for nothing in return.
Maybe he should just be allowed to have this. At the very last, Cassandra resolved not to stand in the way.
******
Dorian insisted on first watch the first night of their journey, and Leo decided to leave him to his thoughts and try to get some sleep. But his head swam with memories of their kiss earlier that day–it had seemed so right, but Dorian had barely spoken to him since they left the Crossroads, and now he was worried he really had overstepped after all. It was reasonable to think Dorian just needed some time to himself after everything that happened, but what if Leo giving him that made him think he didn’t want him?
This is so stupid, Leo thought as he tossed and turned in his bedroll. They were both adults; they could just talk about things instead of him fretting in the dark. When we get back to Skyhold–
The thought made his heart race and his breath catch, and not in the fun way it had earlier that day.
Dorian took first watch again the next night, after another day of remaining mostly silent at the back of the group. Leo decided, after a sleepless hour in his bedroll, that even if Dorian didn’t want to talk about anything that happened the last two days, he’d at least keep his friend company if he wanted it.
The fire had dwindled to coals and Leo found Dorian sitting atop a tall rock flanked on two sides by sheer, tall cliffs, wrapped in a blanket and looking miserable. He started when Leo approached, a spell dying on his fingertips when he realized who’d gotten the drop on him.
“I almost incinerated you,” he said.
Leo snorted. “That would’ve been quite something to explain. ‘Sorry, Cassandra, I roasted the Inquisitor because he startled me. You know how it is.’”
Dorian chuckled and inclined his head in an invitation to join him on the rock. Leo clambered up and sat close enough to touch, but instead of reaching out for Dorian like he wanted to, he leaned back on his hands and crossed his legs at the ankle.
They sat in comfortable silence for a time while Leo examined the constellations above them. He was never good at remembering their names, or really at picking them out at all. He looked down to ask Dorian if he recognized any of them, but found the man staring at him thoughtfully.
“What?”
“Nothing, it’s just… it occurs to me that I know very little about your life before the Inquisition,” Dorian replied, the thoughtful look turning apologetic. “I suppose I should have asked before now.”
Leo’s stomach dropped. “What would you like to know?” he asked, unable to hide the suspicion he always felt when anyone asked him about himself.
“Tell me about your family,” Dorian said amiably. “You know all of mine's dirty secrets now, so it seems only fair.”
Leo shifted to sit cross-legged, facing him, and nervously ran a hand through his hair. “Ah, well… we’re estranged. Have been for some time now.”
Had it not been so dark, he would have noticed Dorian’s blush. “Well, I couldn’t have picked a worse joke to make, then, could I?” he said. “I apologize. You don’t have to talk about it.”
Leo considered him carefully for a moment. “Like you said, I know all your family’s dirty secrets,” he said with a crooked smile. He wasn’t sure what it was–maybe the way Dorian looked at him, or the subtle warmth radiating from the small heating spell he’d extended to keep Leo warm when he sat down, or the fact that he’d kissed him and he was still here–but he suddenly felt compelled for Dorian to know him, even the things he’d rather not tell.
“I shouldn’t have said that–”
Leo rested a hand on Dorian’s knee under the blanket. “It’s fine, really. Truthfully, I’m my family’s dirty secret, I think.”
Dorian cocked his head, a questioning look. “I have a hard time believing that,” he said.
“I think most people would. Shit, ten years ago, I would have.” He withdrew his hand and rubbed his eyes, suddenly exhausted and trying to figure out where to start. “I think I’ve told you before that the Free Marches are like Ferelden—most people don’t much care who you sleep with, who you marry. But when you’re nobility, you inevitably run across people who think they can shame you and your family over it, given expectations about continuing the family line.” Dorian heard, rather than saw, his eye roll.
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know anything about that,” he quipped. It was the closest he’d come to talking about what happened two days ago.
Leo chuckled and shook his head. “No, certainly not. In reality, I never had to worry about it, being the youngest–my parents never cared who I was with, as long as I was happy, and my sister absolutely refused to tolerate a person giving me a hard time about it, bless her.” A wistful smile crossed his face, but quickly melted away. “About five years ago, one of those people who thought to shame me found me in a tavern–he was someone I’d rejected years ago, and apparently he’d never gotten over it. He threatened me, actually called me names like a child, and I egged him on, because I thought he was all talk. Honestly, I wanted him to throw the first punch so I could just lay him out and be done with it. Didn’t expect him to pull a dagger from nowhere, which I should’ve. I got cut badly, and then Genevieve jumped in to defend me, and…”
He stopped, staring silently at the sky for a time and absentmindedly running his thumb across a scar on his wrist, peeking out from his shirtsleeve. “Judging by the reaction, I’m fairly sure he never intended to use the dagger. But he did, and my sister bled to death on the floor of a filthy tavern.” He told the story with detachment, as if it happened to someone else.
Dorian turned to face him, matching his cross-legged posture and taking his hand. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
Leo nodded and was quiet for a long time, staring at their joined hands and internally weighing the cost of the rest of the story. “My brother hated me–told me it should’ve been me instead of her, and he was right. My parents were so brokenhearted they could barely look at me. So I ran away like a coward a few days after she died. I took almost nothing with me, so I made my way the next few years as a mercenary and a professional liar, fleecing rich bastards like me out of whatever I could get.” He sighed and went silent, squeezing Dorian’s hand. He squeezed back, some silent encouragement. “I think the only thing that kept me from… kept me alive was that I thought my death would break my parents’ hearts, and I’d already done that once.”
Breathless guilt and despair roiled low in his chest at the confession, and he withdrew his hand and pulled his knees up to his chest, as if somehow that would dislodge the feeling. He couldn’t look at Dorian, instead training his eyes on his chest. “But it turns out they wouldn’t have cared. I wrote my father when I was named Inquisitor, but he sent my letter back unopened, along with one addressed to Josephine that said he and Lady Trevelyan were happy to receive communication from her or another Inquisition representative in the future, should matters require it.” He said the words as if he were reading them from a page, an exaggerated gentility about his voice. “Even I can’t fail to read the ‘fuck off, Leo’ subtext there.”
He let out a long breath, finally looking up to meet Dorian’s eye. When he spoke, his voice shook. “So that’s it. I’ve not historically been what you’d call a ‘good man’, and I’m not sure anything will ever make it right. I don’t blame my family for wanting nothing to do with me. Why would they? Why would anyone?”
Suddenly Dorian understood why Leo tried so hard to be good all the time, never to be a burden to anyone, never to admit he needed help. As if the weight of his title weren’t enough, he carried a mass of guilt and self-loathing (which felt awfully familiar), and in his eyes, he had a lifetime worth of atonement to get on with. But even that would never be enough.
And he had absolutely no idea what to say in reply. It was nominally a rhetorical question, but leaving it unanswered would be disastrous. Say something, anything, he thought desperately.
“But here, I’ve gone and made everything about me, after the couple of days you’ve had,” Leo said, filling the uncomfortable silence and staring at the ground, wiping unshed tears from his eyes.
“Leo, look at me,” Dorian finally said, gentle but firm. He hesitated, but eventually looked up. Dorian sighed, desperately grasping for the right words. “I’m not sure there’s time enough in the world for me to explain why I want anything to do with you. None of what you’ve told me changes that.”
Leo raised an eyebrow, smirking. “That must have been some kiss.”
“You’re insufferable,” he replied, rolling his eyes dramatically. The bare look of fondness from earlier returned, and he took his hand again. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Honestly?” Leo replied as he ran a hand through his hair, “It feels like… like a weight is gone. Presuming you don’t run for the hills when I take over for second watch, that is.”
“It’s much too cold for that,” Dorian said, and a laugh bubbled up from Leo’s chest. “And anyway, I’m rather invested in this whole Inquisition thing, to say nothing of its Inquisitor.”
Leo squeezed his eyes shut and smiled broadly, like an idiot. It was all he could manage with this beautiful man in front of him, saying kind things and somehow making him feel that everything would be all right. He didn’t know where this would go–maybe nowhere–but he was invested in Dorian, too.