Chapter Text
Dorian,
That was the first thing that let Dorian know something was wrong. Seong never started his letters so starkly. Mon coeur was his usual address, or 'my darling', perhaps, 'my far-flung heart'. Any number of romantic epithets and flowery titles.
Never just-
Dorian,
I never wanted to write this letter. You may have suspected it was coming. I hope so. I hope this is not a shock to you as well as a sadness. Above all things, I want you to be happy.
I am not happy, Dorian. I have not been for a long time. You have tried your best and I love you for it, but you can only do so much from across the ocean. And therein lies the problem; I cannot ask you to choose between me and your homeland. If you chose Tevinter I might never forgive you. If you chose me I would never forgive myself.
Let's make a clean break of it, my friend, and remember each other fondly. You are doing remarkable things in Minrathous and I could not be prouder. Do not hole yourself up in your rooms on my account. Go out; find Mae, get horribly drunk and curse my name. Don't let yourself be alone. I am going to follow my own advice and stay with Vivienne and my sister for the summer. Viola will give me something useful to do, I'm sure.
You remain, as you always were, a valued friend of the Inquisition. Scattered as it is, it will find you if you ever have need of it. You need only say the word.
Thank you, for everything.
Seong
A small weight fell from the envelope into Dorian's shaking hand. The sending crystal in his amulet shivered and keened, as happy to be reuinted with its match as he was devastated to be parted from his.
You may have suspected it was coming.
He'd had no fucking clue. He stared at the crystal in his hand, remembering the last time it had lit up with his lover's voice, over a week ago. Seong had sounded tired and withdrawn then, but not… not this. Not hopeless. Not professional and cold.
A valued friend of the Inquisition.
Seong had said the same to blacksmiths and arls alike. He'd written it on dozens of letters drafted by Josephine and sent them to all corners of Southern Thedas. Dorian had never expected to hold one in his hands. Never expected to receive a letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan, that smiling persona Seong cast off gratefully whenever they were alone. The Inquisitor was a stranger to him, and would be forevermore.
If you chose me I would never forgive myself.
"I would have chosen you," Dorian whispered to the crystal that lay above his heart. Too late, too late, too late.
Cyron dashed across the cobbled streets of Minrathous. Usually when he had a note to deliver to Maevaris Tilani he would relish the opportunity to amble along the market streets, maybe pause by the fountains or stop to pet any number of cats. He was a free man with a kind master - employer, he corrected himself hurriedly - who would never begrudge him a few minutes wasted. But his kind employer had not left his room in three days.
When he was shown in to Magister Tilani's sitting room she smiled at him kindly, enquired about his health and his family, and held out an expectant hand for a letter or parcel. He had none.
"It's Dominus Pavus," he said breathlessly. "He didn't ask me to come, but I don't know what else to do."
Maevaris's smile dropped. "Tell me everything. What has happened?"
"I don't know, " Cyron said, wringing his hands. "Three days ago he asked me to make sure he was not disturbed, unless it was an emergency. He hasn't left his rooms since. We leave meals outside the door, but they haven't been touched. Only-" he swallowed. "Only the wine disappears. And people have heard things. Shouting. Broken glass." Cyron had made sure that the newer, greener liberati servants had stayed well away from that wing of the mansion. He knew Dorian would never forgive himself for scaring them.
"You did the right thing," Maevaris told him, and he let out a relieved breath. "You won't be in trouble."
"I don't mind if I am," he said gamely. He'd never been in trouble with Dorian before, and had no idea what it might look like. "But you will come?"
"Of course." Maevaris smoothed down her robes and gathered up a few papers into a pile. The sight of them struck Cyron with a memory.
"He had a letter," he said, not knowing if this was a further overstep. "One - one of those letters that doesn't get delivered by candlehop."
"Ah. Thorold, sweetheart?" Maevaris called out. A moment later a dwarven man in a wheeled chair came through the door. He wore his salt-and-pepper hair in an elegant topknot and was dressed in, of all things, a cable-knit jumper. Cyron felt himself sweat a little in sympathy.
"Darling?"
"I'm dragging Dorian over for dinner," Maevaris informed him. "Do you feel like cooking?"
The dwarf puffed out his chest. "Always. I have a new recipe from Antiva I've been meaning to try-"
"Can you made dal tadka?" Maevaris asked.
Thorold nodded, easily catching the flow of the conversation. "Ah, we want comfort food. Easy. How about roshmalai for pudding? I can send out for cream."
"Ooh, yes please. With pistachios? He'll like that."
"Done." Thorold stroked his beard, looking from his wife to Cyron and back again. "Everything all right?"
"It will be," Maevaris said grimly, and Cyron felt immediately that if it wasn't, she would make it so. They walked back to the mansion together, and Maevaris left him in the entry hall with a kindly squeeze of his arm.
"You did the right thing," she said again. "You can leave him to me now."
When Maevaris made her way through the familiar corridors of the Pavus estate she tried not to spiral over possible calamities could have befallen her closest friend. She prided herself on being unflappable, after all. Practical. The sort of shoulder someone could cry on - so why hadn't he?
There was a plate of food sat just outside the door to Dorian's quarters. Maevaris pushed it to the side with an elegant shove of her toe.
"Dorian?" She called, after knocking on the door.
It took a long moment - too long - before he responded. "I asked not to be disturbed, thank you."
"I'm not one of your waifs and strays. I'm coming in." Mae dispelled his ward with a flick of her fingers and pushed open the door. She winced immediately at the sight of it. Cyron had been right about the broken glass. Wine and aqua vitae bottles had been smashed and their contents seeped through the carpet and rose now in vapors to sting her eyes. Books and papers were strewn about the room, and Dorian -
Dorian looked like a ghost, or a child, sat hugging his knees on the four-poster bed. Kohl-streaked tear tracks lined his too-pale face, and even as he glared at her his eyes were red-rimmed and helpless as a kitten's.
"Oh, amicus," she sighed, deftly manouevering around the broken glass to sit by his side and throw an arm around his waist. "What in the void has happened? Is it your mother?" She pressed, when he did not answer. "Seong?"
Wordlessly, Dorian passed her a crumpled sheet of paper. It took a moment for his fingers to uncurl around it, as if he had been holding on to it for many days.
Mae read it quickly, heart sinking as soon as she'd digested the first sentence. Oh, Dorian. And then, oh, Seong. She'd liked the Trevelyan boy. Only met him briefly, on one of the rare occasions he'd spirited himself into the city, and had been charmed by his gentle manners and the complete devotion that shone in his eyes whenever he looked at her closest friend. There had been sorrow in those eyes, too, she thought sadly. Those eyes were always too old for his lovely face.
"You may have suspected this was coming," Dorian recited, staring dully ahead. "Did you, Mae? Was I the only fool not to have seen it?"
Mae smoothed the letter free of wrinkles and placed it on the bed before pressing a kiss to the side of Dorian's head. It was prickly; he hadn't shaved. "You're not a fool," she told him. "Or everyone is, when they're in love. And no-one loves harder than you, my dear friend. You give your whole self every time."
"It wasn't enough," Dorian muttered. "It's never enough. Not for him, not for the Magisterium - blast Minrathous. What am I doing here?"
"You're going to have a bath," Mae told him, as cheerily as she could manage. "And then you're coming over to mine and Thorold is going to ply you with sweets."
Dorian huffed something that might have charitably been called a laugh. "I'm not sure I need to be around a couple so disgustingly in love as you two right now, thank you."
"He's making roshmalai," Mae pressed. "From scratch."
Dorian paused. "With pistachios?" He asked.
"All the pistachios you can eat," Mae crooned. "You just have to get out of bed."
"You drive a hard bargain." Dorian rolled his neck and sighed. "Who sent for you?"
"Cyron," Mae said, getting up. "Such a sweet boy." She pulled the glass shards from the carpet with a wave of magic and floated them over to the wastepaper bin.
"He's a traitor and a snitch," Dorian cursed. "I'll give him a raise."
"If it were me," Thorold said thoughtfully, "I'd go to Ghislain." He'd deftly transferred himself from his wheelchair to the sofa after dinner, and was now lounging with Mae's feet in his lap.
Dorian wanted to envy their closeness, their easy familarity. It was, admittedly, hard to feel anything but stuffed and lethargic.
"No, no," Mae was saying. "They need space."
"Bollocks to that," Thorold said cheerfully. "I came and found you when we were long-distance, didn't I? And it all worked out in the end."
"Dearest, you fell off a balcony."
"Right, I'm not suggesting he do that bit."
"I'd bounce," Dorian said mournfully, prodding his swollen stomach. "I don't know how you keep such a trim figure with this one around, Mae."
"It's a constant struggle," Mae sighed happily, pressing a kiss to Thorold's cheek. "No, don't go to Ghislain. He wants a clean break."
"And he gets to make that decision alone?" Thorold pressed. "No negotiation, no argument?"
"You don't negotiate the path of a relationship."
Thorold shrugged. "I did. Negotiated myself an alliance and a gorgeous wife to boot."
Dorian struggled upright. "Yes, well, it was simpler for you two."
Thorold arched an eyebrow. "I'm a lesbian dwarf living in Minrathous. My wife runs a political resistance movement."
"Touché." Dorian reached for his wine glass and drained the dregs. "You'd really go?"
"I really would," Thorold said. "Look, he can't break up with you twice. Best case scenario, you hash it out and come up with a plan to stay together."
"And the worst case scenario?"
"You bring home some caramel salé and I'll make macarons."
Dorian found himself laughing. A wonder.
"I'll go," he decided, buoyed by good food and better company, not to mention Antivan brandy. "You're right, Thorold. He can't break a heart that's already shattered."
Mae winced. "Sleep on it, darling. The guest room's all made up."
Dorian woke with a mouth that felt full of brandy-flavoured cotton, but his mind was made up. He left a scribbled note on Mae's dining table and prayed Thorold was right.
(Delivered to the Ghislain School of Magic, care of Enchanter Viola Trevelyan:)
My favourite sister,
How are you? How is your troupe of magelets? Don't answer that, by the way, because by the time your letter reaches me I'll be in the mountains for the summer and you'll have wasted the postage. Cassandra's asked for my help with her Seeker recruits. Maker only knows what help I can give, exactly, but it will be good to see her again and to breathe some fresh air. Kirkwall's grown on me, but so does mould if you let it.
I'm sorry we fought when we last spoke. It was my fault. You know what you want from life and I'm so happy you finally get to fight for it, even if it wasn't in the way I expected. You've always been more likely to build something than to burn it down. I'm happy for every child you teach who will never have to fear the Templars. Every child who gets to go home for the holidays and write their family as many letters as they wish.
Varric and Cullen send their love along with mine, mine being the most important of course. Give Vivienne my regards as well, and tell her we need to schedule a spa date soon.
You are the better half of me. I am so proud to be your twin.
Your favourite brother,
Seong
"Dorian!"
Viola Trevelyan looked miles and leagues better than when Dorian had seen her last, but then none of them had looked their best in those fraught days by her brother's sickbed. She glowed with purpose, her arms full of essays and children's clothes and a half-wilted bunch of wildflowers which she discarded to pull him in for a fierce hug.
A lump rose in his throat at her embrace; so like her brother's and yet so different. Her smile, too, beaming up at him with a face that was almost his mirror image.
"You didn't tell me you were coming!" She continued. "Did you bring my wayward brother, or is he still travelling?"
"Your-" he stopped short. This eventuality had not occured to him. "He didn't tell you?"
"When he deigns to write to me?" Viola laughed. Springtime; lovely. "What hasn't he told me? I've probably forgotten. My head is full of children's arithmetic and cures for snotty noses. Come through, come through. I've got a little sitting room in my office, like Josie had in Skyhold, but not as pretty."
Viola was all energy; she divested Dorian of his satchel and dusty travelling cloak in a tame whirlwind of movement. The wildflowers were placed in a vase, ("the littlies picked them for me at lunch,") - and the papers unceremoniously dumped on the desk, ("essays on glyphs. Snooze.")
Dorian couldn't help smiling at her as she bustled him onto a neat little sofa and started to make tea. "Oh, you love this."
"I do," she sighed happily, pressing a neatly warmed cup of something earthy-smelling into his hands. "The kids run me ragged and Vivienne never does her share of the marking, but I can't help myself. What brings you to my little school, Magister Pavus? And do you want to deliver a guest lecture before you go?"
"Another time, I'd love to." Dorian took a sip of the green tea, unsure of where to start. "Vi - when was the last time you heard from your brother? He's fine," he added quickly, at Viola's stricken expression.
She was squinting at him now in suspicion. "Dorian? What don't you want to tell me?"
Dorian drained the cup, welcoming the way it scalded the lump in his throat. "He ended things," he said, matter-of-fact. He'd had practice admitting it, on the voyage. "With me. Via letter," he added bitterly.
Viola could not have looked more shocked, he reflected. Since she'd received the Tranquil cure she had become all too easy to read, revelling in emotion in a way no-one but a minute few could ever appreciate. Her mouth hung open now, like a child's.
"He's not here?" Dorian asked in the silence that followed, hoping he didn't sound too desperate. "He said - he said he'd be here. I have a whole speech rehearsed."
"No," Viola said, recovering slowly. "He wrote to me a few weeks ago to say he was heading into the mountains. To visit Cassandra."
"He must have changed his mind," Dorian sighed. "I wonder which letter came first. I suppose I should go," he said, looking for his cloak. "I don't have any siblings, but I don't think you're supposed to fraternise with their ex-lovers." If Felix had had some girlfriend, perhaps he'd understand better, Dorian thought morosely.
"Don't be ridiculous," Viola snapped. "You're my friend. I just - I just can't believe it. He never said… never even hinted…"
"Nothing?" Dorian asked. "He said he hoped I was expecting it. I was not, in fact, expecting it. To put it mildly. It was obvious we were both struggling with the distance, but…" He spread his hands out in a helpless gesture.
"He's been struggling with a lot of things. We fought like cats when I was last in Kirkwall. Like we were kids." Viola ran a hand through her hair. "What's he playing at? He adores you."
"To little pieces. He's not been himself, when we've spoken lately," Dorian admitted. "Aside from the usual arguments."
"He hasn't been," Viola sighed. "He gets phantom pains in his arm, and he's listless. He thinks he's nothing without a bow and a lute. I told him go home for a while, let maman fuss over him. He told me to mind my own business," she added grimly. "And to concentrate on 'building a kinder prison.'"
Dorian winced.
"Yeah. That conversation didn't end well," Viola continued. "But then he wrote and apologised. I wanted him to come visit, meet the kids… maybe teach some music lessons, that would have been good for him. He'll never accept the idea of a reformed Circle until he can stop imagining me chained up in one."
"If it helps at all," Dorian said, gentle, "I think you're doing marvellously. I never once picked flowers for my teachers."
"You were a little snot, I bet," she laughed wetly. "Well, classes have alerady finished - we're about to break up for summer holidays. I guess I'll be spending mine in the bloody Frostbacks." A thought seemed to strike her. "Uh - you don't know how to get there, do you?"
"Haven't the foggiest. We could go via Kirkwall," he offered. "Varric will know. He will have seen him last, anyway."
"Kirkwall," she replied, deadpan. "Whoopee."
They were interrupted by a crying child and a surly teenager both demanding her attention, and once the office doors were open they never closed. Dorian watched in amazement and mild revulsion as Viola swiftly dealt with teenage tempers and broken hearts, accepted humble handicrafts from adoring students, and wiped more than one snotty nose. Only the dinner bell stopped the endless flow of chattering children and let her pause to breathe. The blinding smile was back as she apologised for the chaos.
"Don't you dare apologise," Dorian said. "It's wonderful to see you in your element, not to mention a fine distraction from tedious heartache. Just wash your hands before you touch me again."
They ate dinner in the refectory, in a chaos of chattering voices and laughter that brought nothing to Dorian's mind of his own school days.
"He'll understand once he sees this," he told Viola sincerely. "What you've created - it's marvellous. And you're just getting started, aren't you?"
"Sometimes it feels like we'll never get this thing off the ground," Viola sighed happily. "And sometimes it feels like I've been doing this for a hundred years. I was looking forward to a summer holiday." She tapped his wrist affectionately. "Are you sure you want to come?"
Dorian nodded. "My father will roll in his grave, but I'm prepared to beg."
"Pfft," she snorted. "He should be begging you to take him back." Her words were bright, teasing, but her expressive face couldn't hide the tinge of fear they held. And Dorian couldn't help wondering, lying in a vacant student cot later that night, where Seong was and what he was doing, and why he'd lied to both of them. Why he'd ended the best thing in Dorian's life with naught but a stroke of his pen. Why he thought Dorian wouldn't choose him over everything else.
Because you didn't, a harsh voice in the back of his mind piped up. You chose for him at every turn.
Dorian didn't have a bottle of brandy available to drown out his thoughts, but as half of Viola's students had already left for the summer, nobody but his pillow witnessed his tears. He couldn't stop thinking about the day he'd told Seong that he was returning to Tevinter for good. What stupid thing had he said, then? "I knew you'd break my heart, you bloody bastard." Had he broken Seong's first?
(Left on the Viscount of Kirkwall's desk:)
Varric,
Sorry I didn't have time to tell you this in person. I think our communication route to Minrathous has been compromised, so I've taken the excuse to jump on a ship and visit Dorian to check everything's okay. Don't write to us until you get word - better safe than sorry.
I'm looking forward to seeing Minrathous again. Maybe I'll convince Dorian to let me see a little more of it outside his estate this time. Or maybe I'll squirrel him away to Josie's lovely guest chateau in Antiva and not let him leave until summer's end. He works too hard.
I will also take this excuse to say all the sentimental things you never let me say in person. I really appreciate how you've taken care of me these last two years. I know, you'd never admit that's what you were doing, but you kept me afloat when you had enough troubles of your own to worry about. Kirkwall is lucky to have you, and so am I.
Yours in friendship,
Seong
The sinking feeling in Dorian's stomach grew a little each day as they travelled towards Kirkwall, and when Varric greeted them with a cheerful: "Where's Songbird? Is he flirting with my seneschal again?" it widened into a chasm.
"He's not here? Did he tell you he was going to visit the Seekers?" Viola asked, with an urgency that turned Varric's welcoming smile into a frown.
"No, he said-" he craned his neck to look around Dorian's shoulder, as if Seong might be hiding in his shadow like a mischevious child. "He left me a note a week or so ago, said he was heading to Minrathous."
Viola swore violently in Orlesian. "He told Dorian he was coming to stay with me, in Ghislain."
"And Cassandra something completely different, I'll warrant," Dorian said darkly. Amatus, where are you? He knew that 'bard' was often a pretty name for 'spy', had seen Seong lie as fluently as a second language to any number of suspicious interlopers during their Inquisition days, but to his knowledge, had never been a victim of his deception until now.
Viola hugged her elbows nervously. "I don't like this. Varric, are you sure you don't know where he is? He's not off doing… secret Inquisition business?"
"Hand on my heart, Treasure, I would tell you if he was. If he is, I know nothing about it." Varric's face was stormy, and he looked older and greyer than he ever had before. He wrung his hands. "I've been worried about him," he admitted. "I think you both know he's been depressed. Gotta say, I was so relived when I read my letter. Now I don't know if he needs rescuing or throttling."
"Or both," Viola agreed, and clapped her hands. A slightly manic light came into her eyes. "Right! I need a bowl, a room, and a lack of judgement from either of you."
The chasm in Dorian's stomach made itself known again. "I don't suppose we could get a bath and a drink before you do what I think you're about to do?"
"You can do whatever you like," Viola replied, almost pleasantly, were it not for the fire in her eyes. "I'm finding my brother."
Dorian was shown to a cosy office-cum-library and fussed over in Varric's brusque little way. "Do I want to know what she's doing?" Varric asked as he passed Dorian a glass of something that smelled like - and hopefully tasted of - wine.
"Let's say scrying," Dorian replied, "and leave it at that."
"Let's not. It's my house."
Dorian sighed and took his time with his first sip of wine. "You know how Templars used to track apostates?"
"Phylacteries, yeah. You're telling me she carries a vial of Seong's blood around?"
"They're identical twins. She doesn't need to."
"Ah."
"You're remarkably calm about blood magic being used in your house," Dorian noted.
"I have a diverse and troublesome group of friends." Varric surveyed him in the firelight that flickered from the hearth. "You look like shit, Sparkler."
"The sea air disagrees with me. Also, the love of my life broke my heart in a one-page letter and then proceeded to disappear off the face of the earth."
Varric sucked in air through his teeth, sympathetic. "I… wish I could say I hadn't been there. You poor kid. Kids."
Dorian stared at him. "I am thirty-eight."
"You're all kids to me." Varric dragged a hand down his face. "So, he broke up with you?"
"And gave me back his crystal, so I couldn't contact him."
"He told me not to write to him in Minrathous, because he thought our contact was compromised."
"And he told Viola not to 'waste postage' trying to get a letter to the Seekers in the mountain," Dorian added grimly. "We've been played for fools. I just wish I knew why."
Varric was kind enough not to look at him like he was particularly stupid. "Dorian," he said, in a horribly gentle tone that made Dorian's hair stand on end. "All of our letters say 'thank you and goodbye'. Do you really need me to tell you why, or are you just trying not to think about it?"
Fear clawed its way from the chasm in his stomach and up through his throat. "Don't say that," he whispered, unwilling and unable to even put a name to the idea. "Don't you dare-"
The door crashed open and Viola, pale but triumphant, entered the room. "Got him," she announced. "Sort of. I saw him, but I have no fucking idea where he is, because I've only been to like, two places since I was seventeen. And it's not Skyhold or Ghislain."
Dorian hastily gave up his seat and bustled around to get her a cup and some wine, grateful beyond measure for the distraction. He's alive. He's alive.
"Describe it to us," Varric said. "Also, does this mean there's a bowl of blood lying about my house?"
"A saucer. I got rid of it, now let's never talk about it again." Viola closed her eyes and massaged her temples. "Some kind of ruin. Snow, stone, broken planks of wood… a little cabin. Bundles of herbs hanging up to dry."
Dorian could see it in his mind, but Varric reached the name before he could. "That sounds like Haven, if Haven wasn't buried under thirty feet of snow."
"It's been five years," Dorian offered. "Snow melts." Why Haven, of all places, when he could go anywhere? Seong had never belonged in Haven, in a drafty cabin, helping to prepare rations for soldiers. He was soft and lovely and vain about his hands. Dorian wanted him lying resplendent on silk and velvet, without a care in the world. Dorian wanted him here.
"It's the only place he ever did any good," Viola said softly. When the two men looked at her in surprise, she added quickly: "He said that, not me. When we last spoke."
"Haven," Varric shivered. "Hell of a wild goose chase, just to end up in a ruin."
"He looked… good. Well,"" Viola said, halting and curious. "He was smiling. I think he was talking to someone, but I couldn't see who."
Dorian let out a sigh of relief almost loud enough to drown out the thundering chorus of he's alive he's alive he's alive.
Varric showed them to guest rooms. Dorian, who had spent the last three weeks sleeping in ships, inns, and a student dormitory wing, fell back on the down pillows with an appreciative groan. Viola slipped in behind him, wringing her hands until he raised an eyebrow and patted the bed.
"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked, suddenly shy.
"Your brother? We've talked about little else for days."
"No." She smoothed down the sheets around her with pale, unblemished hands. "What I did earlier. I know you of all people have a reason to hate blood magic."
Dorian let out a breath. He'd told Viola everything, back at Skyhold when the Seeker ritual had worked and Viola had transformed from a polite marble statue to a living, crying, raging woman. How his father had drawn his blood and kept him in the dark for weeks, intent on suppressing his vitality, his wit, the very nature of his soul. How Dorian had almost become a statue himself. It had been meant, not in comfort, but a reaching out from someone who might understand at least a small fraction of her pain. She'd wept on his shoulder and they'd promised each other to live fully.
She was, pointedly, not touching him now. Dorian slung an arm over her shoulder.
"It's not the same thing," he assured her. "Besides: had you done it before?"
"No," she admitted. "It was only ever a theory."
"Are you going to do it again?"
"Only if I absolutely have to." Viola shivered, nearly gagged. "The way it interacted with my magic - I can't totally explain it, but it felt revolting. Alien and wrong. I nearly threw up in an expensive-looking urn."
"Well then. I don't think you're going to become a crazed megalomaniac any time soon."
Viola rested her head on his shoulder. "Still. I'm sorry, if it dragged anything up for you."
Dorian pressed a kiss to her silky hair. "No harm done. If I could do the same…" He swallowed, and knew his next words to be true: "I would have."
"You mean that," she stated. "You really do love him."
"More than anything." Not more than Tevinter, his traitorous mind reminded him. Or so you made him think. "I'll spend the rest of my life trying to convince him of that, if he'll let me."
Lord Seeker Cassandra,
Maker only knows if this will get delivered to you intact. Why do you live up a mountain?
The days are cold and gloomy in Kirkwall, and so, my dear friend, I am going to Val Royeaux for the summer. It is time for this washed-up bard to learn some new songs and see some old friends. I would give you a forwarding address, but I doubt I'll stay in one place long enough to receive a message from so far away. (Again: mountain. Why?)
I will dutifully collect any particularly romantic new ballads and send them your way. I've also enclosed a draft chapter of the new Swords and Shields, which Varric doesn't know I swiped from his desk and copied out for you. Don't say I never give you anything.
I think of you often, and fondly. Did you think that when you first clapped me in irons back at Haven we'd become such fast friends? I would have died a hundred times over that first year if not for your guidance (and frankly, your patience.) No-one could have been luckier than I to fall into your good graces.
Keep up the good work with the Seekers. I can think of no-one better for the job.
With everlasting affection,
Seong
"I thought I gave up traipsing through the Hinterlands when we saved the world," Dorian moaned. "Don't ask me to fight any bears or deliver any flowers. I'm retired."
"Flowers?" Viola asked. The hiking suited her, he thought glumly. Her cheeks were rosy and and her eyes sparkled every time they saw so much as a nug.
"When we first got here, Songbird kept promising villagers he'd deliver things for them - flowers, herbs, potions," Varric explained. "A ring. lost ram. A halla, once - no, wait, that was somewhere else."
"And every time - every time," Dorian emphasised. "We'd get there, and there'd be a fucking demon waiting. And then we'd have to fight the demon. And then we'd have to traipse all the way back to the villager in question and tell them all about it."
"He does love to talk to people," Varric mused. "All people. Every single one."
Viola giggled. "And what part of this was helping you all close rifts?"
"Oh, nothing," Varric replied, at the same time that Dorian said, "he was looking for you."
Viola smiled, but grew quiet. They were not far from Haven, and Dorian wondered if she was repeating the same thoughts in her head that he was; he looked well. He was smiling. He was talking to someone.
The countryside surrounding Haven looked the same, at least, though there were far fewer travellers and farmers on the dirt roads than there had been during the Inquisition years. Without Haven to act as a shelter and centre of commerce, there was little reason to roam in this far-flung corner of the Hinterlands. Dorian found that he barely remembered Haven, now. The memory of it was eclipsed by glowing red Templars, bloodied snow - and of course, the fuck-off enormous dragon.
And Seong, limping out of an avalanche, pale and bruised and cradling his arm. They should have known then, Dorian thought bitterly. They should have known that bloody thing would kill him eventually.
He looked well. He was smiling. He was talking to someone.
The snow and debris grew thicker as sun made its gradual way downward. The second time Dorian stubbed his toe and swore, Varric held up a hand and said they should make camp.
"But we're nearly there," Viola argued, incredulous. "Why stop now?"
"Because it will be pitch black in a couple of hours," Varric pointed out. "That's when travellers get tired and stupid and the wolves come out to play. Better to stop now and rest."
"And what if he's already moved on?" Viola pressed. "And we're falling further behind?"
"Haven's not exactly a pit stop, Treasure."
"I know, but-"
"Stop." Dorian held up a hand, listening to the wind. His other hand gripped his staff. The hairs on the back of his neck had been rising since they'd stopped walking. There was a taste of magic in the air; not the clean aniseed burn of Viola's healing or his own scorched peppercorn smoke, but something supple and intangible and oddly familiar. "I don't think we're alone."
Viola shut her mouth and listened, sending out tendrils of searching magic. Then her shoulders relaxed. She smiled.
"It's okay," she said, loud enough for anyone listening to hear. "You can come out. I've missed you."
Dorian was about to ask who she was talking to when a familiar blond head appeared at his shoulder and he jumped a foot in the air.
"Cole," Viola grinned, as Dorian cursed and brushed snow from his robes.
"I didn't miss you," Dorian said, surly, as Varric pulled the strange boy into a hug.
"You did," Cole replied dreamily. "You miss everyone. That's why you were the easiest to find, like a beacon in the dark forest."
Acidly, Dorian replied: "I've been well, thanks, and yourself?"
"Hush," Viola scolded him, before turning her attention back to Cole. "Cole, we're looking for Seong. We think he's in Haven."
Cole nodded. "That's why I'm here. I need to bring you to him."
Viola gripped his arm urgently. "He's alive?"
Cole nodded, but that was all the information he would give before he darted, like a pale moon rabbit, back through the trees. It was an effort to follow him, and Varric cursed as they struglled through the undergrowth in the dim light, but not a one of them would slow down.
Cole led them to outskirts of Haven where a cabin, half-destroyed but standing bravely in the snow was lit from within. "Seong?" Cole called out, pushing open the door. "I'm back. I brought people to help."
Dorian held his breath as Seong, hale and hearty and smiling, looked up from where he'd been leaning over a workbench. "Oh, good," he said. "Who are they?"
Dorian had imagined looking into his lover's eyes and seeing heartbreak, anger, cold resignation. He had not, even in his nightmares, imagined seeing no recognition there.
"Cole," he said, almost pleasantly, for all that his blood was boiling under his skin. "What the fuck have you done?"