Dorianmance Week - People Person
Two short drabbles I wrote for the Dorianmance Week! I didn’t romance Dorian, but I know two wonderful people ( @latefortevinter and @noctvrnis ) who did, so I decided to use their Inquisitors <3
I apologize for the short length (the screen of my pc has been pink for some time now and it’s painful to write for too long ;_;), but hopefully the mild angst and fluff will be worth it! <3
Vax and Dorian - Remembrance
“Are you feeling better?”
Vax regrets the question as soon as it leaves his lips, because Dorian shoots him a glare across the tent and refuses to reply, too busy shivering inside his warm cocoon of blankets.
“I hate Emprise du Lion.” he mutters, mocking the Orlesian pronunciation. “Maker-forgotten place. Why can’t we just leave it to the Red Templars and Corypheus?”
“Because people live here, Dorian, even if it might seem incredible to you.” Vax chuckles, moving to sit at his side and give him more warmth with his body and embrace.
“Kaffas.” the Altus scoffs, scrunching up his nose, bothered by the melting snow on it and his mustache. “Don’t ever bring me here again. Swear it, amatus.”
“What?” Vax gasps, feigning fear and shock. “You would let me come here, surrounded by freezing cold and powerful enemies, without you?”
Dorian sniffles, glares at him again, then softens. Just a little bit, but Vax can see it clearly.
“… No.” the Tevinter admits, before huffing and adding: “But I demand warmer and better equipment! I don’t care how, ask Dagna to enchant new armors and make them boil!”
“Then you would complain about the heat.”
“I would never complain about the heat. I lived in Tevinter, remember?”
A gust of wind sends more drafts into the tent and Dorian shivers, looking at the flapping corners of the tent and listening to the howling wind with something akin to disgust.
“Amatus.” he whines, falling against Vax’s broad chest. “You aren’t hugging me tightly enough.”
Vax lets out a fond sigh and tightens his hold around him; he even rubs his hand up and down his arms, then he remembers a very important detail.
“Dorian, you are a mage. Can’t you use magic to… I don’t know…”
“Set myself on fire?” Dorian snorts, giving him an amused look and smirk. “Trust me, I thought about that. I just don’t want to ruin all this beauty.”
“It would be a pretty great loss, yes.” Vax agrees, kissing his hair. It has a pungent, rich smell, probably thanks to Dorian’s expensive perfumes and oils that he often uses while bathing.
Vax used some once too, but they were too strong for his poor nostrils and his skin apparently didn’t like them much, but he loves smelling them on Dorian. It calms him down and they have become familiar scents now, almost like home.
He knows that, should they ever get separated, should things ever get worse with the Anchor which still haunts him (and his heart shivers at this thought), smelling those oils and perfumes again would both make him feel better and kill him with nostalgia and longing at the same time. A bittersweet remembrance filling his days with hope and sorrow.
“What about a little fire then?” he suggests, nodding at some dry leaves and sticks that somehow ended up inside their tent. Dorian harrumphs, but then he slowly, painfully moves an arm, extends it over the pile of leaves and snaps his fingers.
Only some sparks appear in the air and they aren’t enough to set fire to the leaves and sticks. The mage tries again, but this time the sparks don’t even come back and he groans, slumping against Vax with a sad sniffle.
“I have no mana and energies left.” he mumbles and Vax laughs, presses his face on his hair, and laughs some more.
“I’m sorry.” Dorian says after a short while, sounding sincerely ashamed. “I am being insufferable.”
“You are adorable all the same, dear.” Vax reassures him, then he adds, his tone somber, softer: “It’s another of the many good things I will always remember about you.”
He says those words just when another strong gust of wind howlw over their tent, so Dorian can’t hear him. Instead, he curses at the weather and cuddles closer to Vax, taking one of his hands and pressing it against his chest to “warm my poor, freezing heart”.
Vaxus doesn’t repeat what he said and closes his eyes, face pressed against his beloved’s hair again, committing to memory his peculiar scent so that not even the flaming Anchor, Corypheus, or Maker knows what horrid destiny will take it from him.
Lloyd and Dorian - Arrow
“I can’t find it! It’s not here!”
It’s such an odd feeling, looking for a simple arrow, so similar to many that can be found in the quiver of every archer of Thedas, but Dorian shouldn’t feel surprised anymore.
If his amatus lost his favorite arrow, the one he continuously plays and fidgets with while he is at his desk, then he will help him find it. At all costs.
The servants who clean the Inquisitor’s rooms every morning surely meant no harm. He doubts they threw it away - they would never touch the Inquisitor’s belongings to such extents -, but they definitely changed its position while cleaning.
And now Lloyd is nervous and even a bit sad, like a child who lost his favorite toy, but also like a man burdened by many responsibilities who lost a special item that helped him feel better during hard times spent being a leader.
“Did you check under the bed?” he asks Dorian and the Altus grunts an affirmative sound while laying down on the floor in a very mortifying position.
Lloyd forgets about his quest for a moment to comment in his usual smug manner: “Your ass looks even better than usual, sweetheart.”
Dorian grunts again, but the compliment has its effect on him and when he gets up, there are two red spots on his cheeks.
“Nothing down there.” he says, before cracking his back and neck and sighing. He studies the room, looking for any possible nook where the servants might have put the arrow, believing it belonged there.
“Maybe in your quiver? Above the fireplace?” He curls his mustache, thinking intently. “Inside the wardrobe? Who knows, maybe they thought it would be a nice detail to add to your pile of clothes.”
Lloyd swears, realizing Altus might be right, and hurries to check inside the wardrobe and even under it. This time, it’s Dorian’s turn to admire his butt.
“You are right, that’s such a nice position. We should try it sometimes!”
He smiles, happy, when he hears Lloyd snort and chuckle, but his amatus’ face is not that cheerful when he gets up. In fact, he looks positively bummed out, more than before.
“Do the other arrows not feel the same?” Dorian tentatively and tactfully asks, his voice soft, his tone mild and sweet.
“That one was special, I guess.” Lloyd shrugs. “It was short, but not too much and I could twirl it easily in my hand. Also the tip was sharp, but narrow, so I never cut myself. And the feathers were a nice colour.”
Dorian clicks his tongue and looks around the room again, hands on his hips. He refuses to give up. If that arrow is so important to his boyfriend, then he will find it.
He decides to sit on the bed to better scour the room with his eyes. Lloyd is standing near the wardrobe, doing the same, and there is an adorable pout on his face. Dorian kisses him and pinches his cheek - causing him to swat his butt -, then laughs and sits on the bed, ready to begin.
As soon as his ass touches the mattress, a sharp pain runs all the way from his posterior to his back and he springs up, yelling.
“Kaffas! What in-?”
Lloyd, who ran to him as soon as he yelled, swiftly lifts the bedsheets and exclaims, beaming like a child: “Here it is!”
It’s indeed the arrow and Dorian stares at it as if someone just tried to shot it at him from the sky through the tall windows.
“Did they want to murder you?” he splutters, fearing more for his amatus’ health than his ass, although he is worried about that too. “How in the Void did that end up there? Why was it there?”
“The servants must have forgotten it there while cleaning the bed and tidying up the room.” Lloyd observes, shrugging. “That or Sera pranked us. It wouldn’t surprise me.”
He then beams at Dorian and kisses him loudly, before patting affectionately his butt.
“Thank you, love! I love your ass more than ever now.”
“It still hurts.” Dorian complains, rubbing it and looking down at it with concern. “Are my pants ruined? Maker, I hope I’m not bleeding.”
“Don’t worry.” Lloyd whispers, nuzzling his cheek. “I’ll make sure to give it a kiss later.”
Dorian’s answer is a happy sound.