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media: dragon age: inquisition
ship: dorian/(orion) lavellan
originally published: on tumblr, march 2015
word count: 1354
notes: orion skips a meeting and dorian goes looking for him.

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“Ah, Dorian! Have you seen the Inquisitor recently?”

Dorian looks up from his book – Josephine stands in front of his little alcove, clipboard in hand.

“Not since this morning, I haven’t,” he replies. “Did he go to bed?”

“That is what I was going to ask you, Dorian,” Josephine says – impatiently. “Ah, forgive me. He just said that he was going to stop by to pick up these documents, and yet…”

Dorian closes his book. Going back on his word? That’s unusual for Orion.

“Perhaps he’s been worked too hard that he simply cannot bear any more paperwork,” Dorian says.

Josephine chuckles. “Perhaps. Nevertheless, if you see him, do tell him to stop by soon. There are some Antivan nobles who claim to be his long-lost cousins, and, frankly…” She sighs. “Well, they need to be dealt with.”

“I’ll pass on the message, Lady Montilyet.” Dorian winks.

Josephine smiles and nods, then takes her leave.

Dorian stands up and stretches, then looks out the window. It’s late – though, granted, Orion was never one to retire early. There’s always some work to be done.

He checks Orion’s quarters, first – but, of course, Orion isn’t there.

The next best place would be the garden. As Dorian walks over there, he marvels at how utterly different Skyhold is at night. While there’s still the ever-present hum of people, the energy is lower – while the anxiety is significantly higher.

The garden, however, is silent. It’s filled to the brim with plants – all are various specimens that Orion gathered during their travels. Dorian walks into the main clearing and glances around, searching for Orion. He usually seats himself on a simple stone bench, close to his favorite herbs – a bench which is currently empty.

“Amatus?” Dorian steps over to the bench, cautiously (he doesn’t want to step on any of the plants, lest he face Orion’s wrath). “I know you’re around somewhere.” He doesn’t know that, actually.

There’s a sinking feeling in Dorian’s stomach. Orion would tell him if he left Skyhold. There’s no way he’d be foolish enough to leave on his own… Should they organize a search party? No, he’d best check the tavern, first – ask the others if they’ve seen him –  

“What?”

Dorian lets out a breath that he wasn’t even aware he was holding in.

“Orion!” He walks towards the voice he heard – past the garden’s gazebo. “I haven’t heard from you since our lovely visit to the Storm Coast this morning! Lovely in the sense of it being wet and miserable, of course. Regardless, Josephine was looking for you; she said something about Antivan nobles claiming to be of your blood? Sounds like a great deal of fun, if you ask – Wait, what’s wrong?”

Orion is crouched in a corner of the garden, facing a wall. His breaths are shallow, almost gasping.

“I’m fine,” Orion says. “I’m just – I’m busy. I’m fine. Leave.”

“You’re most certainly not fine!” Dorian rushes over to him. “What happened? Are you hurt?!”

“I’m not hurt!” Orion snaps – it stings Dorian. “I told you to leave!”

Dorian almost leaves.

He really does.

And he hates that he almost does.

“I most certainly will not leave you like this,” he says.

“Fine. Do as you wish.” Orion leans forward slightly, resting his head on the garden’s wall. “I don’t care.”

“And yet everyone calls me the dramatic one,” Dorian jokes, lightly. Orion doesn’t respond, so Dorian simply takes a seat – on the ground – behind him. “Well, whenever you decide you’re ready to talk, I’m here.”

Yes. Here.

Not leaving in a fit of self-righteousness.

Here. With Orion.

As an equal.

“Fine,” Orion says. “Fine, alright? I was – I was thinking about Haven.”

Dorian frowns. Haven.

He knows that Orion still has nightmares about what happened in Haven… Sleep-talk has its uses.

Orion himself, though? He’s never mentioned a thing.

Not a thing beyond the words he uttered while asleep.

“About something Corypheus said. He said that I…” Orion turns around to face Dorian, yet avoids eye contact – instead opting to keep his eyes towards the ground. “That I shouldn’t be here.” He’s shaking, shaking so much. “That I shouldn’t be alive.”

Dorian leans forward and wraps his arms around him. “But you are, amatus. You’re here. You’re alive.”

A few seconds pass. Orion’s breathing becomes more level; less erratic.

“For all intents and purposes, I’d wager that we shouldn’t trust in the words of an objectively evil Darkspawn. But that may just be me.”

“I’m a mistake, Dorian.” Orion pulls away from him. “This is all a mistake.”

Dorian’s chest burns. “Why does it matter?” He reaches out and touches Orion’s arm – lightly. He doesn’t want to grab him. Doesn’t want to pull him. By no means is Orion fragile, but… “You’re here. You cannot give into the beast’s mind games. Orion Lavellan, you’re the hero that –”

“I’m no hero.” Orion doesn’t look at him. “I’m just a killer. A murderer.”

“We’re all murderers!” Dorian’s grip gets a bit tighter. “Today I killed five men before I even ate breakfast. Such is the world we live in. Kill or be killed.” He reaches up to Orion’s face and cups it in his hands. “Amatus, you – do remember what you told me? You protect those who cannot protect themselves. You’ve given us a common purpose. We follow you, wherever you may lead. Not because you are the Inquisitor – but because you’re you.”

Dorian can see the stubborn streaks of tears, trailing down Orion’s face – but he knows that Orion hates these emotional displays and opts to just keep talking.

“If your life is a mistake, then it’s the best mistake that has ever happened in history. And, yes, that includes the invention of those little Orlesian cakes that we both love so much.” Dorian wipes Orion’s tears with his thumbs. “You, being here – being alive – if it’s a mistake… It’s certainly the best mistake that’s ever happened to me. Meeting you was worth...” He’s not good at showing affection – not on this level of intimacy. It makes him uncomfortable, it makes him feel like Orion will turn and run.

But he has to tell him. He has to tell Orion. “It was worth everything.”

Orion doesn’t turn, and he most certainly doesn’t run.

Instead, he laughs.

It’s a choked laugh – almost a sob – but most definitely a laugh.

He finally looks at Dorian. “Worth having to get on a ship and travel across the sea?”

“Maker, it was worth every onslaught of seasickness. Every single one.” Dorian wraps his arms around Orion again and holds him close. 

“I’m sorry,” Orion murmurs. “I just – I think about it, sometimes. He had his – he was ready to kill me – Corypheus, I mean. There was so much fire, so much blood. He almost got me.”

“But you were far too good for him, and no one is surprised.” Dorian smiles. “That was months ago, amatus. Though introspection is never a bad thing, your energies are needed elsewhere.”

Orion sighs. “You’re right. I can’t allow myself to be like this.”

“Oh, no. If you need a good cry, believe me, I’m always here. You know I adore you, Orion.” Dorian pats his back. “Typically, I’d avoid making that offer, as my robes are neither generic nor Southern and I’d rather keep them free of bodily fluids. But, for you? Anything.”

Orion laughs. “You’re an ass.”

Dorian grins. “Ah, yes! There’s the ever-personable Inquisitor we all know and love!”

“Stop!” Orion shoves his face in Dorian’s chest, shaking with laughter.

His laughter dies down eventually.

They remain there, in the garden. Sitting in silence, with Orion’s face pressed against Dorian’s chest.

Because, sometimes, you just need to sit in a garden at some obscene hour of the morning with someone you care about.

And when Orion finally leans back and looks up at Dorian – his eyes raw and wide and questioning – Dorian nods slightly and lets Orion press his lips against his.

He’s not good at intimacy, but he’s getting better.

He’ll be damned if he let Orion carry the weight of the world alone.