@lexolas221 Let’s find out together…

Things Thought Lost - Bonus Chapter  - Adiran (AO3)

Dorian Pavus, Varlen Lavellan, Maevaris Tilani. Approx. 3000 words

Dorian and Varlen both decided totake Maevaris up on her offer to spend time at her estate. There was an elementof safety to it, of course. Anyone seeking to harm Dorian would be unlikely tolook in the home of a different Magister, at least for a time, and Varlen couldpersonally vouch for the training of her guards. But there was another concern– a rather pressing one – that went unspoken between the three of them as theyhaunted the sitting room. It was visible primarily in the stiffness of Dorian’sposture. In the erratic tapping of his fingers on armrests. In the way he wouldsuddenly lurch to his feet and pace, robes shifting smoothly, his brow the onlything bearing any form of crease. Varlen and Maevaris both watched helplesslyfrom a pair of plush sitting chairs, commiserating in their shared worry ofDorian, whose words had slowed to only a handful per infrequent conversation.To her credit, Maevaris had become significantly more accommodating once sheknew exactly who Varlen was, both to Dorian and the Inquisitor.

For Varlen, it remained a sourceof bitter amusement how much of his worth was defined by other people. But hesupposed that could not be helped, given the company he kept.

It’s always the small things that speak the loudest truths. The wandering of a gaze. The flickering of attention. The itch of limber fingers as they yearned for a book with a far more interesting cover. At first, Varlen had dismissed the signs, assuming he was being paranoid. Ridiculous. After all, that’s what was often said of him, and it took a stronger man than he to not be swayed by such prolific rumours. 

But the day he realised the truth, it had stung harder than anything he could have ever imagined.

“I am returning to my homeland. To Tevinter.”

Those words. Thick with conviction; so thick that there was no room between the letters for anything else. No room for doubt. No room for him. They rose to meet Varlen so quickly that he thought he might be crushed by their weight. Instead, he faced sad, quartz-grey eyes, begging for understanding. For approval. For anything.

“… Amatus?”

That word. A word for him, yet suddenly so foreign in a way that had nothing to do with language. Varlen watched, mute and pale, the colour pulled from his skin by a single sentence. He shook, but in an insidious way that concealed itself beneath his skin. His hands remained limp by his sides.

“Come now. Say something, yes?”

Say something. Say what? He’d said so many words over the months they had spent together, and fool that he was, Varlen had assumed some of them had led Dorian to love him. Or at least care about him. Perhaps both were too strong a sentiment for what they had shared. Perhaps he had just been too deep in denial to see it. Too caught up in a moment that wasn’t even there.

Dorian stepped forward after that, reaching out, that familiar hand of his coming to rest on Varlen’s shoulder, the other brushing his cheek. Sweeping back his hair, cupping his face in a show of worry. It was all a show, after all. It had to be. 

He was such a fool…

I sincerely hope this does not kill you instantly, but here you are… for science.

So do I claim your soul now, or…?

I got a bit carried away, but I felt like writing a little Dorlen, so… here you go! (Approx 800 words, most under the cut)

“Dorian, I’m—“

“Hush. Now, lie back down. I need to take your temperature.”

Varlen breathed out a laugh, coughed, and did as instructed,the soft mattress relaxing beneath him as he sank into it. “Didn’t you justtake it? I don’t think it’s changed, vhenan.”

He watched as Dorian approached the bed and fixed him with ahaughty look. “I will the judge of that, thank you very much.” He lowered down,the bed creaking softly beneath him as he sat at its edge. Gently, despite hisclipped tone, he smoothed Varlen’s hair back from his forehead, frowning when hediscovered it was slightly damp. “Sweating. Are you too warm?”

Varlen shook his head, holding still as Dorian felt hisforehead, then the sides of his neck, then leaned forward to listen to hisbreathing. “I’m fine. I keep tellingyou. It’s just a cold.” Reaching out, he managed to catch one of Dorian’s handsas he attempted to fuss over Varlen’s rumpled sleeve. Imploringly, he held itclose, a small smile spreading across his lips. “I promise. I’m not going to keel over and die.”

Dorian snorted, but didn’t pull away. “I should hope not. Iwould loathe having to speak at your funeral about the dangers of wanderingabout in the snow. I imagine I told youso  feels less satisfying whendelivered via eulogy.”

Laughing, Varlen tugged Dorian a little closer, thenhesitated, his mind tired. Sluggish. The coughing had been keeping him up atnight, breaking his sleep. “Better not,” he mumbled, letting the mage’s handgo. A brief look of hurt flashed across Dorian’s face and Varlen baulked, hurryingto explain. “I-I don’t want to make you sick, that’s all! You probably shouldn’teven be hanging around here or you’ll end up like me.”

Prompt #15 - Trembling Hands (approx 700 words, some under the cut

Pavellan. Varlen Lavellan x Dorian Pavus. Contains non-explicit mention of past abuse.

“I-It wasn’t my fault!”

“Shhh, I know.”

“They made me… made me do it. T-They…”

“Hush. It’s all right. I’m here, amatus. Just breathe. In and out.”

Varlen’s hands trembled as words stuck in his throat like tar. He was wrapped in the thin sheet of a foreign bed. Silk. Orlesian. They were in Orlais. He remembered sluggishly as the luxurious room pulled back into focus, slowly losing the blurry edges of sleep. Sleep that tugged at him. Tugged at him like those hands all those years ago, trying to drag him back. Back to the ground. Across the wood and stones. Back to somewhere he never wanted to go.

A hand brushed against Varlen’s temple, gently sweeping the hair from his face. The motion was distant, on the periphery of both vision and awareness. Varlen blinked, and swore it took a handful of seconds just to complete the simple motion. Then, something warm wrapped around his shoulders. An arm. 

Dorian.

It was too much. Varlen shivered then curled against him, burying his head in the crook of his neck. He smelled familiar. Wine. Parchment. Ink. Wine first, because it lingered sweetly on both their skin. Parchment and ink because he had been writing something before bed. It still stained the tips of his fingers.

Just jotting down a few things, amatus. Give me a moment, then I am yours.

“What were you writing?” Varlen whispered, voice hoarse. He swallowed, desperate for distraction. Begging for anything other than the nightmare that lingered in the dark corners of his sleeping mind, waiting for him to return. The question came out of nowhere, but Dorian remained unfazed. His hand rubbed Varlen’s arm as the other reached around to draw him into something more resembling an embrace. To hold him.

“A list,” Dorian answered softly, keeping his voice low. Soothing. “Of things that caught my eye during the evening’s festivities. Other than the assassins and murder, of course.”

Varlen choked out a laugh, sniffing, reaching up to awkwardly rub the wetness from his eyes through the small gap between his chest and Dorian’s arm. “L-Like what?”

Prompt #21 - Collapse (Pavellan, approx 400 words

“You know, I don’t think this is how it usually goes. Usually I’m the one in bed at midday.”

The voice was familiar and Dorian stirred as it trickled through his foggy consciousness. Brow flickering between a frown and a cringe of pain, he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly against the sudden assault of sunlight. Now who had the audacity to put that there?

Groaning, Dorian made to sit up but found a hand was pressed against his chest, halting his movement like a guard at a crossing. He glanced down at it groggily, then followed the length of the arm until it ended at the pleasing form of Varlen. His amatus smiled, but it was closed-lipped and tense with worry, the way one smiles when attempting to bring light to a dark situation. It prompted a most suitable reaction from Dorian.

He rolled his eyes.

“Come now, I am not dead, you know. At least, the ache in my head would suggest otherwise.” It was true. Along with his new-found sensitivity to light, it felt like there were a hundred dwarves with tiny hammers banging away on the inside of his skull. 

“What happened?” Varlen asked, refusing to let go of his concern despite humble reassurance. It was endearing, if Dorian were to be honest. “Last I heard, you were experimenting. Something to do with Skyhold’s defenses. Then I find out you’re in here. Out cold.”

“Yes, well…” Dorian cleared his throat and selected a pane of glass on the nearby window to suddenly find fascinating. “I perhaps… overextended myself. Just a bit.”

“A bit?” Varlen repeated incredulously, reaching out to take Dorian’s chin and turn him back to face him. Dorian breathed a sigh out his nose and sheepishly allowed it. The look on Varlen’s face was almost hurt as he continued. “Vhenan, you collapsed. What if you’d hit your head? Or broken something? What if you had been standing on that damn balcony like you normally do and–”

“All right,” Dorian interjected gently, reaching up to extract Varlen’s hand from his chin and fold it in his own. “All right. Admonishment received, amatus. I will take more care in future. On this matter, you have my word.”

“Oh. Well… good.”

They sat in silence for a moment, holding hands, pointedly avoiding each others’ gaze. Then, like a pair of children who had just realised the foolishness of their spat, they lifted their eyes and found one another again. Something passed between them in that moment. A dual apology; one for carelessness, and one for caring too much. Dorian did not believe the latter was necessary, but he accepted it nonetheless. Through their linked hands, he felt Varlen relax slightly.

“Just so you know, I’m putting mattresses down next time.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows at that. “Oh? Where, exactly?”

Varlen’s face split into a mischievous grin. “Wherever you are, obviously! Good luck explaining that to your colleagues.”

“Oh, I imagine the matter would be rather simple.”Laughing, Dorian lifted their entwined hands and pressed Varlen’s fingers to his lips, smiling against them as they shared a playful stare. “I would simply point them to the elven man napping on one of them.”