Chapter Text
This is all Varric’s fault , Tre thought unfairly as he sank to the ground in front of the discarded rings, trying unsuccessfully to stop his tears as he cradled his stump of an arm. If Varric hadn’t put it into Cassandra's head, who put it into my head, this never would have happened.
It had started when Tre had gone to speak with Cassandra on the veranda. She had been a nervous wreck as he approached.
“I’m talking about marriage! ” Cassandra had exclaimed exasperatedly, after a series of miscommunications between her and Tre.
“Marriage?” asked Tre in disbelief.
“Of course, Dorian being Tevinter will raise eyebrows across the empire, but if that is your…”
Tre stared openly at Cassandra, his eyebrows raised.
“You’re not proposing,” said Cassandra in realization. “To anyone.”
Cassandra stood up and began to pace angrily.
“I am going to kill Varric. Why do I believe everything he says? Why?”
“He said I was going to propose?”
“He...mentioned a proposal. I suppose I filled in the blanks. Or he did this on purpose. That dwarf gets entirely too much joy from my discomfort.”
Tre had been completely caught off guard, but nonetheless there was a warm glow in his chest as he thought about Dorian.
“I might get married. I’ve thought about it,” said Tre. It wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t a lie either. He had thought very often about what it would be like to spend the rest of his life with Dorian. He hadn’t thought of marriage, per se, but that was only because marriage in the traditional sense wouldn’t quite apply to them, or be recognized in Tevinter. And if Tre had realized anything over the passed month, it was how much he desperately wanted Dorian to be in his life every day. He had missed Dorian so much while he had been away in Tevinter. Tre looked up at Cassandra, realizing that he had been smiling to himself. Cassandra smiled back.
“I suspected as much,” she said. “Being Inquisitor has brought you good things, many good things. But only a few have been by your choice. Take what happiness you can from those, and do not let them go. That is all I meant to say. Advice from a friend, for the days to come.”
Tre felt like a live current was running through his veins as he made his way through the crowd to find Dorian. He caught sight of Dorian as he was engaged in a conversation with an Orlesian Soldier. Dorian looked stunning in new armor with gold detailing. He was facing the soldier with his arms crossed, a stern look on his face.
“Orlais is on your side, Lord Pavus,” the soldier was saying. “The Inquisition’s support is not a thing to lose lightly.”
“Which is why the Orlesian court is circling it with a net and collar?” Dorian said, cool but charming, refusing as always to pull his punches. Tre couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face -- and as if he could sense the smile, Dorian looked up, their eyes meeting. Tre felt his stomach flip. He couldn’t believe how much he had missed Dorian.
“But you’ll have to excuse me!” said Dorian, his eyes never leaving Tre’s. “I see an old friend I must greet.”
Tre tried not to trip over his feet, tried to walk at a normal pace and not to bridge those last few feet between them in leaping strides.
“Amatus!” said Dorian as he reached Tre. “Wading through all the pomp and circumstance, I see.”
Well, that wouldn’t do at all.
“You’re back after being away in Tevinter for a month, and this is how you greet me?” said Tre, barely stopping himself from kareening into Dorian.
“I have an apology ready,” said Dorian in a low voice.
He swept Tre into his arms, one hand on the small of his back, one on the nape of his neck, kissing him passionately, and it felt like coming home. It was more than Tre was expecting -- Dorian wasn’t usually one for public displays of affection. Maybe Dorian really had missed Tre as much as he had missed Dorian.
“What have you learned about this council?” asked Tre a little breathlessly as they parted.
“Orlais wants the Inquisition tamed, Ferelden wants it gone, the Chantry meddles, and Tevinter sends but one ambassador,” said Dorian with all the usual flourish. “That’s me, by the way. A reward for my ‘interest in the south.’ Thankfully, ‘Ambassador Pavus’ is a token appointment. Call on me as you like.”
“Very gracious of you, sir,” said Tre, leaning in and playing with Dorian’s collar.
“Oh, now that I could get used to,” said Dorian, smirking.
“Call on you as I like, you say?” said Tre, and Dorian nodded. “What about in the storage room under the stairs in ten minutes?”
Dorian’s smirk transformed into a smolder.
In the storage room a short time later (it had been nothing for Tre to pick the lock), held against the wall by Dorian, Tre felt in complete bliss. Yes, Tre thought, as Dorian dropped to his knees. Yes , he thought, as his trousers were slid down to his ankles. Yes , he thought, as Dorian took him in his mouth. This is what I want, for now and for always.
“I love you,” Dorian said after they had finished dressing themselves a while later, kissing Tre once more quickly before slipping back out into the courtyard.
Tre leaned against the wall once more, breathing deeply and closing his eyes. When he exited the courtyard, it was to go find the blacksmith, hoping the man knew how to make rings.
After being assured by the blacksmith that it would be an honor to meet his request, Tre made the rounds of his other Inquisition companions. He had an improvised spa day with Vivienne, delighted in watching Cole play spirit matchmaker to Krem and Maryden, had a raucous celebration of The Iron Bull’s birthday, and spent a good quarter of an hour playing fetch with Cullen’s new dog. The most surprising and most touching moment for Tre, though, came after a rousing round of pranks with Sera, when she sat him down for a drink and made him an offer that caught him completely off guard.
“What do you think, Inquisitor?” she asked, as an anonymous few dropped their red tokens onto the table. “Want to run some rooftops as a Jenny?”
For Tre, it was no question.
“Well, all I have to say is, call me ‘Red Frigging Jenny.’” Tre raised his glass in a toast. “To all my friends!”
“Always and ever, Inquisitor,” said Sera, knocking her glass against his. “Always and ever.”
“C’mon, you lot,” called Bull, clearly already very drunk from his birthday celebration, nearly crushing Krem and Grim as they supported his hulking form. “The party’s this way!”
“You go on,” said Tre, finishing his drink. “I’m right behind you.”
Tre circled back to the blacksmith, who presented Tre with the two newly forged rings, made of a simple iron, but marked with a delicate pattern of intertwining flames.
“More intricate work than I’m usually tasked with,” said the blacksmith. “I hope they’re to your liking.”
“They’re perfect,” said Tre. They still felt warm in his hand, and somehow heavier than he expected, although he may have been assigning them a metaphorical weight. He placed the rings carefully in the pocket of his dress coat, paid the blacksmith generously, and left to join the others at the party.
Tre found the group surrounding the couches in the courtyard while Varric was in the middle of a toast.
“As the most eloquent dwarf you know, Sparkles --”
“Speech! Speech!” interrupted Sera. “Way too much speech.”
Dorian met Tre’s eye for the briefest of moments before looking away quickly -- nervously. Something’s wrong.
“Varric,” said Dorian quickly, “there’s really no need...”
“What’s going on?” asked Tre, looking around to the others. Sera was drinking heavily from her goblet, Cole was standing off to the side awkwardly, and Bull had managed to pass out completely on the ground. Tre looked back to Dorian and saw that his expression was one of barely concealed panic.
“Inquisitor! You’re just in time!” said Varric, just noticing Tre. Tre could tell by his lack of volume control that Varric was at least a few drinks in, and oblivious to the general atmosphere of the rest of the group. He turned back to face Dorian, merrily raising his glass.
“Sparkles, the Imperium doesn’t deserve you. Or want you. It may even kill you. But we’ll miss you, if it counts.”
It took the moment of the silence that followed for Tre to realize the full implications of Varric’s words, and when he did he felt a wheel of emotions spin through him, landing eventually on anger. Tre glared so sharply at Dorian that he saw the mage flinch, his expression full of sadness and concern, before turning sharp himself and scowling at Varric. It was a look full of enough venom that Varric, even in his drunken state, finally caught on.
“Aaaand you didn’t know. Okay folks, time to take the party elsewhere.”
“Tama never wanted any, I swear…” muttered Bull as he snored on the ground.
“Err, leave him,” said Varric awkwardly, ushering the others away.
Dorian turned and walked a little distance away. Tre, his blood boiling and his throat tight, followed.
“It’s true,” said Dorian heavily as he turned to face Tre. “I couldn’t stay away from Tevinter forever. I’m leaving as soon as the Exalted Council is done.”
“But you weren’t going to tell me that, or discuss it with me first?” Tre said with an obvious catch in his voice.
“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” said Dorian, and he sounded sincere. “Frankly I’ve been dreading this conversation, but here it is. My father is dead. Assassinated, I believe. I received notice this morning: A perversely cheerful letter congratulating me on assuming his seat in the Magisterium. We only met a few times while I was home. He didn’t say anything about keeping me as his heir. This ‘ambassadorship’...his doing, I’m told. He must have wanted me away when the trouble began. I have to go back.”
“What of us?” said Tre. He knew his first reaction should have been to the news of Dorian’s father, but the rings were heavy in his pocket. Tre felt ill. “This is it, then?”
“Nonsense,” said Dorian quickly. “There will always be an ‘us.’ We’ll just be...farther apart, for a time.”
Tre looked down at the ground, the weight of the reality of the situation washing over him.
“Now, now don’t pout. They’ll put that expression on a statue, and then you’ll be sorry.”
“You think this is funny?”
“Nothing about this is funny. I am sorry, for what it’s worth.”
“I know it was complicated, but...I’m sorry about your father.”
“Thank you,” said Dorian. “It still doesn’t feel real.”
Normally, there wouldn’t be so much space between them. Tre should have bridged the gap as soon as Dorian told him about his father. He should be holding Dorian, comforting him. Instead, there was a chasm between them.
“So...you’ll truly be a magister?” said Tre when he could think of nothing else to say.
“Oh yes, I can’t wait to degrade the Magisterium with my presence. A new outfit is required.”
“And then what?”
“I find my father’s killers and I kill them back. Then I find those giving Tevinter a bad name and kill them . They’re most likely the same people, so that should make the job easier.”
Tre felt a spark of hope at that plan.
“You’ll need help. I could go with you.”
Dorian looked stricken once more.
“Not this time, amatus,” he said heavily. Tre didn’t ask why -- he already knew. Dorian needed to handle this on his own, and having his male lover by his side wouldn’t do him any favors in Tevinter. The spark of hope fizzled out.
“I won’t be entirely without support,” Dorian continued. “Maevaris has gathered other magisters who feel as we do. We’ll be an actual faction in the Magisterium. I’ll teach them manners. Take them shopping. It’ll be fun.”
“You don’t have to go back, Dorian,” said Tre in a final plea. “You put it behind you. You still could.”
“Give up a golden opportunity for martyrdom?” said Dorian, with a valiant attempt at his usual irreverence. “Perish the thought.”
Dorian reached into his pocket as he spoke and pulled out a small box.
“A present. A going away present,” said Dorian, handing Tre the box. “It’s a sending crystal. Amazing what friendship with the Inquisition gives you access to. If I get in over my head, or you’re overwhelmed with sorrow for lack of my velvety voice -- magic!”
Tre clutched the crystal tightly in his hands, his throat feeling tight once more. He pressed his lips together.
“What -- you didn’t think I would just leave and you’d never hear from me again, did you?” said Dorian, now taking a step toward Tre to bridge the space between them. “You are the man I love, amatus. Nothing will truly keep us apart.”
Dorian closed the gap between them, and their kiss, while passionate, felt heavier than their reunion had only a handful of hours before.
“Now let’s finish the good wine before the others get back.”
They got quite drunk. Dorian even managed to convince Tre that their long distance relationship might not be that bad. And with the alcohol numbing the pain, Tre was able to distance himself enough to be able to feel the pride he should that Dorian was going to try to make the world a better place. He toasted Dorian loudly and gushingly, much to the enjoyment of his friends, and much to the scandal of the the Orlesians.
“You’re going to lose your status as belle of the ball,” said Dorian in a low voice in his ear.
Tre downed the rest of his wine in one gulp.
“Take me to your room,” Tre said, and Dorian looked taken aback.
“Your rooms are undoubtedly nicer.”
“Take me to my rooms, then.”
“Back to being bossy, I see.”
“Are you complaining?”
In one fluid motion, Dorian finished his drink and lead Tre into the palace.
A short while later, Tre had pinned Dorian to his bed, straddled him, and rode him hard, allowing the alcohol to limit his inhibitions, to become more base and primal. He turned Dorian into a writhing, moaning wreck beneath him, and Tre reveled in it. Good, he thought , let him see what he’ll miss . It gave him armor to think this way, it protected his heart from the truth.
Something which became far more difficult afterwards, lying in the dark, watching the sated form of Dorian sleeping soundly, thinking of all of the nights they would miss.
The rings sat in the pocket of his discarded coat on the floor.