#crafted a bow for her (might have been a little stupid lol) but in the worst case scenario i'll just give it to another archer down the line

[thereluctantinquisitor]

"Do you need to vent?" Dorlen! Or whoever you want lol

Pavellan. Dorian Pavus x Varlen Lavellan 

(Approx 1400 words, most under the cut)

When Dorian opened the door to Varlen’s room, the last thinghe expected was for a boot to come flying at his head.

With barely a moment to think, he ducked fast, and theleather projectile kissed the air mere millimetres from Dorian’s cheek. He heard itthud heavily against the wall, its dull impact echoing through the adjacent corridor.

“Well,” Dorian began shortly, standing back up and straightening hisrobe with an air of affronted dignity. “Nice to see you too.”

“Dorian! I didn’t–I wasn’t–!” Varlen’s spluttered reply was almost as amusing asthe man himself, standing there half-dressed and so red-faced he might as well wait until morning to rise with the sun. His newly bare foot hovered off the ground, as though he was reluctant to press it to thefloorboards. Dorian couldn’t say he blamed him. Over the course of the evening,they’d all heard rumours of how Orlesians passed the time. Most methods seemed to takeplace on the floor. Or on a table. Or against a window.

“I’m sorry, vhenan,” Varlen continued hurriedly, hopping a few stepstowards Dorian before seemingly changing his mind and steadying himself on the footof the bed. “If I’d heard you coming, I wouldn’t have—”

“— Flying footwear…” Dorian interrupted suddenly, strolling into the room, his eyes flicking discerningly around the luscious space. “Abroken bottle… torn parchment… carelessly discarded clothes…” He stopped afew paces from Varlen, his gaze finally coming to rest on the silver-hairedman. “Do you need to vent, amatus?”

It was, apparently, possible for Varlen’s face to turn an even deeper shade of crimson. He shifted with awkward stiffness, one foot stillhovering a few inches from the ground, before almost reluctantly touching downonto the polished wood. “It’s stupid,” he muttered sullenly, not meeting Dorian’sgaze. “Really. I thought I was alone, otherwise…”

Dorian sighed as Varlen trailed off. As much as he cared for him, he could be soimpossible sometimes. Stubborn. Then again, he’d be lying if he said it hadn’t been a large part of what drew him to the elven man. Whatcould he say? He liked the challenge of someone willing to stand their ground.

“Well, you aren’talone, and it just so happens that I am a wonderful listener. It would be quite theshame to waste my services, wouldn’t you agree?” The whimsical tone Dorian hadchosen was meant to disarm an opponent. At least, according to his formal debating teacher back inMinrathous. A haughty crone of a woman, but she had known hercraft better than some Imperial Magisters. Of course, this was no battle of wits, and Varlen was no enemy, butsuffice to say a clever lilt of the voice or turn of phrase often worked just aswell in any situation.

True to expectation, something about Varlen relaxedslightly. Not the loose-armed relaxation of a newly unburdened man. It was more subtle than that. He raisedhis chin ever so slightly and allowed himself to meet Dorian’s eye.

“Are you going to charge me?”

Dorian cocked an eyebrow. “… For?”

“Your listeningservices.”

His own bark of laughter took Dorian by surprise, but he was evenmore pleased when it coaxed a small smile from Varlen’s otherwise sullen face. “For you, amatus? Not at all.Now, sit. Tell me what happened so I can coo gently and stroke your hair.”

Varlen rolled his eyes, hesitated, then sat down on the edgeof the bed. Doing his best to be humble in victory, Dorian strolled over andjoined him, the mattress bowing beneath their combined weight. A part of Dorian yearned to make another smart remark, but he stopped himself just in time. He could beselfish like that. A flaw he worked on a little each day. But the greater problem still hung heavy in theair. Whatever that problem was, it was not Dorian’s. He would have to discoverit one word at a time.

“This whole day has just been… hard,” Varlen began suddenly,almost forcefully, as though he could no longer contain the bitter words. “I don’tunderstand how Riven did it. Dealt withit. Fenedhis, I could run off and hide whenever I needed a break, but shewas center-stage. The eye of the storm. Everyone knew when she went missing. They whispered about it likeshe was off skinning cats behind a building!”

“Well, as you do,” Dorian joked lightly, although he could feel hisbrow attempting to draw into a frown. Varlen huffed humourlessly and leaned forward, bracinghis forearms on his thighs, hands clasped tightly in front of him.

“Four times, I was asked to fetch wine, you know. Twice Iwas scolded for ‘slacking off’. Then for minglingwith the guests. I mean, coming down to Ferelden, sure, there were times when I feltlike I was… I don’t know… lesser. Buthere? I was a stain, Dorian. It felt like everyonejust wanted to get rid of me.”

“Or dance,” Dorian offered helpfully. Varlen snorted.

“Or dance,” he agreed resentfully, nose wrinkling in distaste. “I mean… come on. Tell me how that makes any sense?”

Dorian breathed in long and deep, then let it out with a rushing sigh, shoulders sinking with the motion. “You’d be rather surprised whatpeople are willing to overlook to serve their own desires, amatus. Especially courtiers and nobility,I’m afraid. Rather egocentric lot. Accustomed to getting what they want whenthey want it. Snap their fingers. Ring a bell. I blame the parents.” Glancingacross, Dorian studied Varlen. The stiffness of his back, the despondent angle of his chin, the uncertain tilt of his brow. Varlen just studied his hands. “For some, theirparched throat led them to look at you and see a servant. For others… well, if I may, you didlook rather dashing. Anappreciation for beauty is quite the hallmark of Orlesian culture, however undeservedthat reputation might actually be. Some would be more than willing to risk theirreputation for the chance to be spin around by a handsome man in a well-tailored suit.”

Head still bowed, Varlen snorted derisively. “Risk theirreputation? Gee, that makes me feel somuch better. Thank you, Dorian. You really do have a way with words.” He glanced across almostaccusingly. “I thought you were supposed to make me feel better? Stroke my hair and stuff?”

“Now now, I’m not finished,” Dorianreprimanded gently. At first, it seemed like Varlen wanted to argue, or possibly even stalk off, buthe remained silent and still despite his obvious irritation. Tread lightly, Dorian thought warily. You’re walking a very fine line here. “Amatus… I know it is hard to hear, but it is the truth. People judge us from the moment wewalk into a room. Sometimes beforethat, depending on how fast news travels. In a place like this, all we can hopeto do is as little damage as possible. Someone has to put the cause first, after all. It seems we who already wear the uniform are the only ones willing to do that.”

“So… what?” Varlendemanded sharply, a steel-like anger in his eyes. “I’m meant to just play nice? Bowand kiss their boots and fetch their wine so I don’t offend them with my existence? I’m not here toprove my worth to them, Dorian. Neither are you. I mean, you’re not even an elf, but I still heard the waythey…” He bit off the sentence and inhaled sharply through his nose, jaw clenched in frustration. “We all came here as part of theInquisition. As representatives of something bigger than all of… of this. That’s the only thing about us that should matter.”

“Well, yes. Of course,” Dorian agreed, and was surprised to find that he genuinely did. He reached out and placed his handover Varlen’s, not at all surprised by the fact that the elven man wastrembling. “Unfortunately, what should matterand what does matter are too oftenvery different things. Things hidden behind fancy velvet curtains because even thosewho take part in it realise it is unsightly. Here at Orlesian court, they call it TheGame. In the Imperium, it manifests as an ancient and archaic social order. No matter where you go, it is there, wearing a different name. None of it is right, of course. But whatabout this world really is?”

Silence stretched between them, cast like an invisibleshadow across the room. Then, slowly, as though coming to some sort of privateyet vital decision, Varlen shook his head.

“That’s… not good enough, Dorian. Not for me. Not for you…” Heswallowed and looked up. Met Dorian’s gaze with the fierce resolve of youthfulconviction. “Not for anyone.”

Dorian felt his mouthcurve into an almost proud smile. That look, so determined, so earnest… it suited Varlen. A little too well, if he was honest. It held init all the things Dorian had shied away from during his sheltered youth. All thethings he had ignored and turned his back on because it had not affected him. He was one of them. Selfish.Pampered. But in that moment, sittingon a half-made bed in a half-lit room, he felt like he could do something. He didn’t know what – not yet, at least – but the fire he needed was there, lit by a pair of bright blue eyes. Eyesthat refused to be ignored.

“You’re right, amatus…”Dorian said, the words forming slowly. Thoughtfully.Distracted, his mind churning, he squeezed Varlen’s hand, and Varlen returned the gesture with equal firmness,his trembling gone, replaced by quiet resolve. 

“… It isn’t.”

#dragon age fanfiction #dorian pavus #varlen lavellan #pavellan #comfort sentence starters #reluctant writes #reluctant replies #dorlen #<3 #thank you for the prompt! #chaitea09