#| that hairy lummox. (blackwall)

[tevinteredeemer]

Tag Dump.

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[merrybandofmurderers]

[id: banner reading Work in Progress Wednesday in white cursive font on a smudged turquoise, yellow, and gray background /end id]

that time of the week again! anyway, i don't think i've shared this bit with y'all so here you go; occurs post-dragon fight chapter

When Dorian finished eating, he retired to the library. He settled into his favorite alcove, hidden from gawkers. He’d barely gotten comfortable when his name echoed off the rafters in Lavellan’s booming voice. Dorian winced, dreading the awkward shuffle to regain their equilibrium after how they’d parted.

Lavellan swaggered into Dorian’s alcove, wearing armor Dorian had not seen before. It looked vaguely Tevinter in design, but it was the tackiest, most garish thing Dorian had ever seen.

“What,” Dorian said, “in Andraste’s name is that?”

Lavellan cocked a hip. “Fucking badass, right?”

“I want to gouge my eyes out.”

Lavellan just laughed, which did nothing to make the situation less surreal. “Harritt helped me make it out of our spoils. You want him to make you something? We could match.”

“Please, do not,” Dorian begged.

Lavellan pouted and crossed his arms, leaning against the bookshelf. “You are such a killjoy sometimes,” he huffed. “Anyway, we’re heading out to the Emerald Graves tomorrow. Want to get some blood on this armor.”

“Tomorrow? I’m still hungover!” Dorian protested.

Lavellan rolled his eyes. “Well, you won’t be by the time we get there. Honestly, you sound like Blackwall.”

“Perish the thought.” Though knowing the hairy lummox had similarly suffered for their revelries was comforting.

“Come on, Dorian.” Lavellan affected a plaintive expression. “You know you’re my favorite.”

It was a punch to the chest.

But something must have shown on Dorian’s face, because Lavellan’s playful smile faltered. “Dorian?”

“I—” He cleared his throat, fingers tapping on the book in his lap. If Lavellan wished to pretend their misstep hadn’t happened, perhaps it was for the best, but… No, Dorian deserved clarification. “The other night—”

“Ah.” Lavellan looked away, ears flicking. “That.” His fingers ran over the sash at his waist. “I’m afraid I don’t really remember—”

Well, that was bullshit. Dorian had learned recently what an atrocious liar Lavellan was. Why he had suddenly decided to take up the habit, Dorian didn’t know. Had Lavellan attempted lies to other companions, or was it just him? The thought made Dorian’s mood plummet.

“Look,” he said, keeping his tone even, “if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand. But I do think I’m entitled to some explanation for how I upset you.”

Lavellan’s head jerked toward him “What? Dorian, you didn’t upset me—well, you did. But I was drunk! I wasn’t being reasonable. You don’t need to take anything I said seriously.”

“But you were trying to tell me something,” Dorian persisted. “Something it seemed important I understand. You did it last time, too—” Lavellan looked away again at that, and Dorian faltered for a moment, but pressed on, thinking it unfair of Lavellan to initiate these conversations drunk with the expectation they ignore them when sober. “Lavellan, why can’t you talk to me about this?”

Lavellan sighed, rubbing at the scar on his lip, which Dorian’s eyes could not help but zero in on. “It isn’t that I can’t, I just—” He shook his head, turning back to Dorian, determination settling on his face. “I’m being a coward, and you don’t deserve that.”

He took a deep breath. “It is—important to me that you know how much I value you. That however things turned out between us, you are one of my most important friends.”

Dorian blinked, a sweet sting behind his eyes. “Lavellan,” he breathed.

Lavellan looked down. “I care for you,” he murmured. “And I—how I treated you shames me. I gave you—expectations.”

“Lavellan—”

“I did. And I betrayed that. It’s just been so long—it—it frightened me. It wasn’t your fault, and that I made you feel like it was… I didn’t deserve your forgiveness.”

Dorian stood, book tumbling from the floor. “Lavellan.”

Lavellan held up a hand. “I need to say this. You deserve to hear it, and I shouldn’t have hidden behind alcohol to do it. What I was trying to tell you—lethallin. It’s an Elvish word. There isn’t really a direct translation—all the more reason I shouldn’t have tried to explain it drunk—but it’s meaning is between ‘friend’ and ‘brother’, although not necessarily indicating a blood relation.” He looked up at Dorian through his lashes. “That’s what you are to me. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

Dorian just looked at him in shock, speechless. He wasn’t used to being speechless, but Lavellan seemed to have that effect on him.

Lavellan scoffed, folding his arms, the tips of his ears red. “Oh, like you haven’t been calling me ‘amicus’ for weeks now.”

Dorian flushed. “You knew what that means? Did Krem tell you?”

Lavellan smirked at him and didn’t answer. He spun on his heel so his robes flapped around his legs. “Make sure you’re ready by tomorrow!’ he said cheerfully.

Dorian dropped back into his seat. “As always, ruining the mood,” Dorian groused, but he couldn’t hold back a smile.

Five minutes later, Dorian remembered the message of Krem’s report.

tag, you're it! @mrs-theirin, @gaysolavellan, @thegingerjedi, @midnightprelude, @dumbassentity, @cciarants

[borisbubbles]

My favourite Dorian Quotes

Just as an addendum, since my previous didn’t exactly put across the hilarity of Dorian, here are my favourite quotes/conversations/reactions by Dorian Pavus in Dragon Age 3.  Edit 22/01: added a few more because Dorian just keeps giving.  60.  Dorian: Come on Varric, just answer the question. 😣 Varric: My mother didn’t raise any morons, Sparkler. 🙄 Dorian: But you must have an opinion! And you’re a Dwarf! Completely unbiased. Varric: There is no way I’ll answer “Which Inquisition Mage is the best dressed?”, not for all the gold in Orzammar. Vivienne: Also, the answer is obvious. 🙂 59. Dorian: So what's your estimation, Varric? Think we could win? Varric: 😱 You aren't asking me to give odds on our beloved Inquisitor's success?! 😛 Dorian: What would that look like? Three to one? 🤣 Varric: In his favor?  Dorian: After Corypheus pulled an archdemon out of his arse, are you joking? Inquisitor: You would actually bet against me?  Dorian: Now now, if I weren't here, it would be five to one at least. 😘 Inquisitor: I’ll take those odds, actually. 😏 Dorian: This is why I adore him so.  😍 58.  Cassandra: So Bull, about Dorian... Iron Bull: Yep, it’s true. 😁 Dorian: By all means, let’s discuss this all together. 🙄 Cassandra: If you’re both pleased Dorian: He’s happy, I’m happy, everybody’s happy!  Iron Bull: Awww, you’re happy. 😍 Dorian: 😣 Cassandra: 😄 57. You joke! they’ll be writing books about you, boring ones that will get it all wrong. Just you wait!   56.  Iron Bull: Yesss, we’re going to fight the dragon, boss? Oh THIS is gonna be GOOD.  Dorian: You are way too excited about this. 😑

55.  Blackwall: How do you get your hair to do that, Dorian? With magic? Dorian: With proper hygiene and grooming. Maybe the three of you should get acquainted. 🙄 54.  Cole: You’re happier now, Dorian Dorian: Oh is that what this light tingly feeling is? I suppose you’re right. 😏  Cole: Wishing but wondering, wounded and whistful Cole: What if he doesn’t want me after? Dorian: But he did. 😁 Cole: Now you’re smiling. It’s good.  😃 53. Varric: Does this shit make any sense to you? Dorian: Are you referring to the giant gaping hole in the sky, or the creature from a Chantry cautionary tale pretending to be a god? Varric: Either. I’m feeling generous. Dorian: What’s the matter? Some pretender comes along, tears the place down, declares himself king. That’s half of history. Varric: Corypheus is like that drunk uncle who refuses to leave the party? Dorian: Even after he puts a hole in the ceiling. Terribly common.  52.  Sera: You gonna warn me the next time you’re throwing your magic around? Dorian: As long as you’re careful where you shoot all those arrows Sera: You magic me, I’ll put three in your eye! Dorian: 😅 Now we can live together in peace and harmony!  51. Vivienne: Dorian, what did you think of little Sera’s last Red Jenny mission? Dorian: Hmm... I’d call it ‘medium’. 🤔 Vivienne: ‘Medium’, my dear? Dorian: It wasn’t rare, and it certainly wasn’t well done. 😏 50. Cole: Dorian, what is 'a slave'?  Dorian: FESTISBEIUMOCANAVERUM! 😨 Cole: You said I could ask questions! Dorian: I know I did, just... go ask the Inquisitor that one. 49. An optimist! 🤣  such a rare breed, I have stumbled upon a unicorn. 48. Dorian: What I wouldn't give for some proper wine.😫 Vivienne: Skyhold's steward is a sadistic little man who is trying to kill us. 🤢 Dorian: Perhaps he found a bargain he couldn't pass up, on vats of vinegar? 47. Cassandra: Why are you looking at me like that, Dorian? Dorian: I am trying to imagine what you would look like... in a dress.😈 Cassandra: Keep wondering. If my uncle couldn't put me in one, neither shall you. 46. Dorian: How do you want to be remembered, Cassandra? Valiant yet sexy rebel against the status quo? Cassandra: I don't have any control over how I'll be remembered. 🙄 Dorian: Sword raised high, blue scarf dramatically fluttering in the wind, sun rising behind you? Cassandra: Blue scarf?😒 Why would I be wearing such a thing? Dorian: It's a painting, of course! Work with me( It'll be fantastic! 🤗 45. Dorian: Why is it so cold? How do you southerners stand it? Iron Bull: What's the matter? Not enough slaves around to rub your footsies? Dorian: My ‘footsies’ are freezing, thank you! 😒 44.  Blackwall: Dorian, I’d appreciate it if you stopped refering to me as ‘that hairy lummox”.  😠 Dorian: When did I do that? Blackwall: At the tavern, the blacksmith’s, the stable. You said it to the gateguards when we left Skyhold! Dorian: hmm... 🤔 yes, that does sound like me.   🤗 43. Dorian: Watch out where you point that thing! 😡 Iron Bull: Dirty! 😏 Dorian: Vishante kaffas, I meant your weapon! 😡 42. Dorian: What would you say Blackwall's best feature is, Vivienne? Vivienne: His absence, of course. 🙄 Blackwall: I can hear both of you. 😒 41. Dorian: Did you know we are actually related Inquisitor? Inquisitor: We, what? Dorian: Not first cousins or anything. Can you imagine?  Dorian: I however did a bit of digging in my family tree, and somewhere down the netheregions of my line there was also a Trevelyan. Dorian: Perhaps the one who went to Ostwick to establish the branch? I knew we looked so alike for a reason. 😏 Inquisitor: Um, yay?  Dorian: Indeed! 😁 Yay! 40. I’m always nice. 😏 39. Dorian: I don't know if you've heard, but the rumours are that you and I are... intimate. Inquisitor: That's not such a bad thing, isn't it? Dorian: I don't know, is it? Inquisitor: Do you always answer a question with a question? Dorian: Perhaps you would like me to answer in a different fashion? 🤔 Inquisitor:  If you're capable. 😅 Dorian: 😘🥰😚 Dorian: 'If you're capable.' The nonsense you speak. 🤭 38. Dorian: You caught the eye of a young woman in that last village, Blackwall. Blackwall: I'm sure you're mistaken. 😒 Dorian: You're right. She was undoubtedly looking at me.🤭 37. Dorian: Vivienne, I have only the one question - why the Orlesian fixation with masks? Vivienne: It is The Game, darling. You never show the players your true visage. Dorian: A strange custom in a culture where people assassinate each other for putting too much salt in the soup Vivienne: An extra hurdle to be overcome. Fail at The Game, and you die. Dorian: And you people call Tevinter barbaric. 🙄 36. Dorian: You are smiling a great deal these days, Cassandra. 😉 Cassandra: I am not... smiling. 😒 Dorian: Now you're not, but only because I pointed it out to you. Cassandra: I am not a giddy schoolgirl! 😡 Dorian: That would have been easier to believe if you hadn't just blushed. 🤗 35. You’ll be surprised at the credit my tongue gets me, your Reverence.  34. Dorian: Sera, I see you are having fun with your illustruous paramour- Sera: WHAT? 😨 Is it showin'? Dorian: What? NO, oh heavens NO. 🤢 Dorian: I meant to ask if you're enjoying your new relationship. Sera: Then why not just say that? 🙄 Dorian: I did... in words you apparently don't understand. 😑 Sera: What's the point of words you know and others don't? Who'd you say them to? 🙄 Dorian: Letmejustdobothofusafavorandretractthequestion. 😡 Sera: Pity, because we're doing great. That's why I'm following her around with weirdies 🤗 33. It was fun to goad you, Cassandra. You get that knot between your eyes when you're flustered - Ah, look, there it is! Delightful!  🤗 32. Dorian: I half expect my mother to materialize from the crowd to criticise my manners. Inquisitor: Where would we be if you mother we really here? Dorian: Short one mage, after he's been dragged out by his earlobe. Inquisitor: I have a hard deal imagining that. 😅 Dorian: Picture me a young boy of five years then. She certainly always has. 🙄 31. Dorian: 'Official Mage to the Orlesian Court'. Well that sounds exciting. 🙄 Vivienne: It's an esteemed position, darling. One many mages should envy. Dorian: Yes, I suppose being paraded around like an exotic peacock is better than frantically running from templars. 🙃 Vivienne: Better an exotic peacock than one Tevinter rat amongst many. Dorian: Oh? A dig at my homeland? This should be fun. 😏 30. Sera: Dorian? Those words you say. What do they mean? Dorian: What, you mean like mendicant or ultimatum? 🤨 Sera: No, arse, when you're mad. 'Pish-anty cough-ass'. You're swearing, I know it. Dorian: Ah, 'vishante kaffas'. It's Tevene, relics of the old tongue. We still use the colorful phrases. Sera: And it means what? Dorian: Literally? 😏  'You shit on my tongue.' Sera: 😂 Why not just say that?  Dorian: A mystery for the ages.  29. Sera: Demons! Flappy robes! Dorian: Thieves! Dog Stink! Sera: Culty shits! Dorian: Treacherous teyrns! Sera: Wha- It’s not a proper game of ‘Your people are shit” if you just make up words. 🙄 Dorian: A ‘teyrn’ is a Fereldan title, just below that of a king. I thought you of all people would know that. Sera: Well that’s just... I... smartasses 🤬 Dorian: Too late! I believe that’s my round. 🤗 Sera: Piss! 😠 28.  Vivienne: You’re rather amusing, Dorian. Dorian: Your outfit’s entertaining, I’ll give it that.🙄 Vivienne: Pretending to be a shark from a land of sharks. But you’re not a shark and you’ll never be one, darling. They knew this as much as we do.   Dorian: I could have of course pretended, wore fancy clothes, convinced everyone I’m something I’m not.  Dorian: Then I could take a position at court, whore myself out, and desperately hope no one realizes what a fraud I am.  Vivienne: Such snapping for a fish without teeth! 😂 Inquisitor: I cannot believe the way you two speak to each other. 😨 Vivienne: Inquisitor whatever is the matter? We’re having a perfectly civil conversation. Dorian: It’s true. I’ve heard worse from the gardener back home.  27.   Dorian: Varric, you owe me five royals. I’d like them paid in candied dates. 😉 Varric: I haven’t lost that bet yet, Sparkler. Dorian: You said we would be arse-deep in trouble. This is more like knee-high. Varric: I didn’t specify whose ass, did I? 😏 Dorian: Leave it to a dwarf always lowering the bar. 🙄 26. I hope you tried the ham they were serving, by the way. Tasted of despair. Fascinating. 25. Dorian: Vivienne, we can continue this dance forever if you like. Vivienne: Certainly. Provided both of us are capable. Dorian: I mock Orlesian frippery and nonsense, you slam Tevinter decadence and tyrrany. Dorian: There's however something more important we must remember. Vivienne: And what might that just be? 🤨 Dorian: At least we're not Antivan. Vivienne: 🤢 Quite right. Thank the Maker. 🙏 24. Cassandra: You're not as handsome as you think, Dorian. Dorian: Ah, but I must be! Or you wouldn't have been thinking about it all this time.  😏 Cassandra: Anyone who claims it as often as you must be dreadfully concerned they're not. Dorian: Look at this profile - Isn't it incredible? Dorian: I picture it in marble. 😏 Cassandra: 😒 23. Flying cows over Minrathous? Preposterous! Okay that one is actually true, but the cows didn't have wings. 22. Dorian: I have only one question, Sera: did you cut your own hair?  Sera: Yeah. Why wouldn't I? 🙄 Dorian: You could try using something other than a rusty butter knife. Sera: Oh, excuse me while I dig up my diamond-studded hair-cutting whatevers. 🙄 Dorian: Scissors. 😏 The word you're looking for is "scissors." 😏 21. Iron Bull: Quite the stink-eye you've got going, Dorian. Dorian: You stand there, flexing your muscles, huffing like some beast of burden with no thought save conquest. 😡 Iron Bull: That's right. These big muscled hands could tear those robes off while you struggled, helpless in my grip. Iron Bull: I'd pin you down, and as you gripped my horns. Iron Bull: I. Would. Conquer. You. 😏 Dorian: Uh. What? 😨 Iron Bull: Oh. Is that not where we're going? 🤐 Dorian: No. It was very much not.😳 20. You can't call me pampered, Varric. 🙄 Nobody has peeled a grape for me in weeks. 19. Sera: Dorian are you going to warn me the next time you bust out in demons or sumthin? Dorian: 😂 How exactly do you picture me 'busting out’? Dorian: I am just walking along and *OOPS* - demon? Dorian: I mean it could happen, after years of training. You could also trip and impale your eye on an arrow. 😏 Sera: So are you going to warn me or not? 🙄 Dorian: Certainly. But only because you're so dear to me. 😘 18. Dorian: For being so unnerved by magic, you aren't shy about benefiting from its effects.🤔 Sera: I don't. I use normal things, not magic. 🙄 Dorian: You consider swathing yourself in flame or ice 'normal' and 'not magic'? 🤨 Sera: For one: it comes out a bottle. Sera: For two: I mess up, I get burned. You mess up, your head chucks up a demon. Sera: For three: Bottle, little burned, no demons. So there. 🤗 Dorian: That was only... you know, if it lets you sleep at night, never mind. 😒 17. Festis bei umo canaverum! I swear, if you don't come through this, I will kill you. 😖 16. Dorian: The first time I entered the Fade it looked like a lovely castle full of silks and gold. 😍 Dorian: I met a marvellous desire demon as I recall. We chatted and ate grapes before he tried to possess me. 😇   Vivienne: 🙄😒😠😡🤬 Dorian: Yes? I hear your southern Harrowings are slightly more strenuous. 😏 15. What do they call this place? A "bog"? Lovely word for it.  🙄 14. Dorian: Solas, what is this whole look of yours about? Solas: I am sorry? 🙄 Dorian: No, that outfit is sorry.😷 What are you supposed to be, some sort of woodsman? Dorian: Isn't that a Dalish thing? Don't you dislike the Dalish? Or is it some sort of statement? Solas: No. 😠 Dorian: Well, it says "Apostate hobo" to me. 😏 Vivienne: Unwashed apostate hobo, more specifically. 🙂 13. I AM TOO PRETTY TO DIE 😭 12. Dorian: Amatus, it's been so long. Did you miss me? Inquisitor: A little bit. Dorian:  😂 'a little bit' he says. I'll show you a little bit! Just you wait. 😏 11. Dorian: Sera, where do you get your arrows from? You have so many. 🤔 Sera: From your arse. That's where. 🙄  Dorian: My arse should open up a shop. It's apparently quite prolific. 😁 10. Ah, this reminds me of the time Mother took me boating in summer. Or rather, she had the servants take me on the boat while she sat inside with a cool drink.🙄  09. Inquisitor: Things are going well with the Bull, I take it? Dorian: He's glad I've returned, if that's what you mean. Nearly crushed three of my ribs with that ridiculous hug. 🙄 Inquisitor: You say that as if you don't like it. 🤨 Dorian: For such a great beast, he can be such a terrible sap 🙄 Dorian: [bullvoice] "I want to talk about my feelings, Dorian". Dorian: Ugh. 🙄 Inquisitor: 😂 you do like it Dorian: Quiet you! He'll overhear, and then where I'll be?🤫 08. Dorian: Sera, I cannot believe you, of all people, are scared of magic. Surely you can see nothing wrong with a properly used tool? Sera: What about all the mages waving their proper tools in people's faces? Dorian: There's an image. 😁 Sera: "What about Corfyface? How many proper tools does he have under him? Dorian: That's not... I don't think I can continue. 😬 Sera: I don't care how gifted you are, don't cram it where it's not wanted. 😡 Vivienne: Maker, how does she not know? 🙄 07. Just once we should enter a cave and see normal sized spiders. 🙄 06. Cassandra: After all the places we have been, I hardly expected us to find ourselves in another cave. Cassandra: Still, as mad as our lives had been, I would take any chance to be together.  😘 Dorian: Why seeker, after all these years, I never realized you felt this way!! Cassandra: ... Dorian: ... Cassandra: 😒 Dorian: Oh, you meant him. 😶 05. Mountains! 😠 Cold! 😠 "Let's bring Dorian!". 😒 04. Dorian: I heard a little rumour that somebody has been doing some training. As an assassin no less. Inquisitor: I thought the skills might come in handy. Dorian: Yes, I suppose a little flair is welcome, with all the killing you do. Inquisitor: I don't kill that many people. 🙄  Dorian: Are you joking? I'm only surprised you didn't kill someone walking over here. 🤨 03. Cole: Breath painful, stabbing, and then real stabbing, lungs full, frothing, scent of apples as it all goes black. Dorian: 'Death By Applepie' - A lovely poem by our dear friend Cole.  02. Blackwall: Corypheus, one of yours isn't he? Dorian: One of my mine? 🙄  Like a pet? 🙄 Like a giant darkspawn hamster with aspirations of godhood? 🙄 Dorian: "Dorian, why can't you look after your little friends. Corypheus peed on the carpet again". Dorian: In this analogy, 'the carpet' is Haven. 😏 Blackwall: Is he or isn't he a Tevinter magister? 😒 Dorian: Meaning 'the source of everything bad in the world'? They are the same, yes? 😑 Blackwall: Sigh. Feels that way at times. 🙄 01. Inquisitor: No matter what happens, I wouldn't trade the years I spent with you for anything. Inquisitor: I love you. Dorian: I knew you'd break my heart, you bloody bastard. 😭

[johaerys-writes]

Kiss Prompt: Wet kisses after seeking refuge from the rain, featuring my beloved friend @tessa1972 's David Trevelyan and Dorian! This was supposed to be a kissy prompt, but it swiftly turned into a smutty prompt, because I love those boys so much :)

Also: Happy (very very belated) birthday, Tessa!! <3

@dadrunkwriting

(Smut under the cut!)

--------------

“Where are the others?”

Dorian glanced about him. All he could see was trees, trees and more trees. Oh, and some bushes. And some goats grazing in the distance. A more bucolic view he would be hard-pressed to find, and the rain clouds hovering above did not make it any better. What did make it better, however, was David’s back, that was just a few paces ahead of him, peeking out from behind a wide ash tree trunk. The leather coat he was wearing was a snug fit, following the curve of his spine, sewn to highlight his strong shoulders. Dorian made a mental note to thank whoever had made it for him.

“They must have taken the left turn at the crossroads,” David replied, turning to glance at him over his shoulder. His cheeks were flushed from the chill breeze, a strand of dark brown hair clinging to the sweat on his brow. The smile his lips were quirking in was warm and reassuring. His ability to smile even in that wasteland of a place was a mystery Dorian could hardly decipher. “We’ll find them soon.”

“I’m sure we will.” Dorian drew closer. “Can’t say I’m looking forward to another half day of listening to Blackwall making crude jokes with Sera, but here we are.”

"I quite like his jokes, actually." David chuckled softly, taking Dorian’s hand in his. "They make me laugh. And so do your jokes.”

Dorian gasped. “Are you comparing my jokes to those of that hairy lummox? I expected more from you,” he said, playfully jabbing his side with his finger.

“It was merely an observation!” David laughed, pulling him close. “You know I love your jokes.”

“No, no. Can’t win me over now. Don’t even try.” Dorian wiggled away with a smirk, walking a little way ahead. “Are you coming? I can feel my dinner calling me, and I want to find these quarries as soon as possible.”

They hadn’t gone a few steps before the peel of thunder echoed around them.

“I think it’s about to rain,” David said. Before he had even finished his sentence, a couple raindrops fell on Dorian’s head. A few minutes later, it was like the sky had split in half, and they were both running through the woods, seeking refuge. It wasn’t long before David grabbed his hand, pulling him towards a cave in the hollow of some tall rocks. “There,” he panted once they’d crossed the threshold. “We should be safe here until the rain abates.”

Dorian walked in, shaking the rain from his cloak. Which was a futile task, soaked as he was to the bone. He threaded his fingers through his wet hair, pushing them off his brow with a huff. “Dratted South and dratted southern weather,” he mumbled under his breath, wiping rain from his eyelashes.

David was just as soaked as he was, but he seemed in much better spirits than Dorian. “It’s not so bad,” he said with a smile, squinting at the sky beyond the cave opening. “It should stop soon. I’ll build us a fire and we’ll be dry in no time." He walked over to the far end of the cave where a few forgotten pieces of wood lay, and immediately went to work setting them aflame. His flint and dagger were soaked, which made it impossible for a fire to catch on the dusty logs.

Dorian snapped his fingers, and the firewood was promptly aglow. "How you're so calm about this, I’ll never understand," he muttered, trying in vain to curl the ends of his moustache. "We both look like we just took a dip in a lake with our clothes on!"

David simply shrugged with a smile, warming his hand before the fire. "Sudden rain like this happens all the time in the Marches. It reminds me of home.”

“Of course it does,” Dorian huffed, but he couldn’t help the smile that blossomed on his lips. David’s cheerfulness was always infectious to him. “The Marches sound like a dreadful place.”

David stood up and walked up to him, his smile widening. There was water clinging to his eyelashes, dripping from his hair, arcing slowly down his cheeks. “You should come and visit one day,” he said softly, his hand snaking around his waist. “I’m sure you’ll love it.”

“I very much doubt it,” Dorian replied cheekily, letting himself be drawn to him, hypnotised by the look in his violet eyes. “But I know I’ll enjoy the company.”

David let out a soft, throaty chuckle, brushing his lips over his. The raindrops on his lips tasted like fresh soil and pine, light and crisp on Dorian’s tongue. He sighed softly, linking his arms behind his neck to pull him closer. “You said something about drying our clothes?” he whispered, running his palm down David’s shoulder. 

“Mmhmm.” David smiled against his lips, walking him back against the cave wall. “I’m afraid that will involve taking them off.”

“A pity,” Dorian sighed, popping the first button of David’s coat open. “I do like the way this coat looks on you. But-” He worked another button open, smoothing the coat back over David’s shoulder, “-I like the way it looks off you even more.”

David unbuttoned the rest of his coat with a smirk, peeling it slowly off his back. His white shirt was soaked, clinging to his skin, transparent. “What a coincidence. I could say the same for your clothes.”

Dorian closed his teeth over David’s bottom lip, eliciting a muffled groan. “First you say my jokes are crude. Then you say you like my clothes better when they’re off me.” His fingers slithered in David’s hair, tugging softly. “Someone needs to be taught manners, it seems.”

“Looking forward to it,” David chuckled, his hand slithering under Dorian’s robes. “You are a phenomenal instructor.”

“There you go. That’s better already.” 

David leaned in for a kiss, his tongue warm and sweet against Dorian’s own. Dorian leaned in to his touch, melting in his arms- his strong arms, that he could feel through the damp fabric of his shirt. Firm and taut muscles under smooth skin. The definition of his shoulders, the contours of his back. Dorian let himself be pressed back against the wall, pinned between the cold, smooth rock and David’s body. Deft fingers worked the latches of his belt open, then the top of his robes was pushed over his shoulder to expose his bare skin. A shiver ran up Dorian’s spine when David’s lips left his to leave a wet trail of kisses on his already damp skin, his tongue warm against the cool raindrops. 

“Think the others will be looking for us?” he asked breathlessly, tugging at the laces of David’s breeches. Instead of a response, David hummed softly, pushing Dorian’s robes open at the waist, his calloused fingers skimming his waist. 

“I’m sure they’ll be fine without us,” he whispered, drawing Dorian off the wall and lowering them both down to the ground close to the fire. The stone floor was cold to the touch and hard against his back when he lay down on it, but when David hovered over him, his soaked strands brushing his face, droplets from it running down his neck, Dorian couldn’t care a fig about that. 

“You know best,” he said with a smirk as he drew David’s lips down to his again. 

David’s laugh was warm against his skin, raising every hair on Dorian’s body on end. He bit his lip down hard when David moved lower, his tongue running down the tendons of his throat, lapping up the water that had gathered in the dip of his collarbone. He watched, breathless, as David moved lower still, kissing and nipping at the skin of his chest, his stomach, before gently pulling his smallclothes down and off. Another sigh escaped him when David’s breath brushed past his length, then his eyes rolled back when David’s lips closed over the top of his shaft.

“Ah- yes-” He hummed at the back of his throat, his hips rolling up despite himself, seeking that wet, velvet warmth. He always loved the way David touched him, the way he could make him tear at the seams with just the barest of caresses. Soft and tender, careful and loving, knowing just what he liked. Long, slick, agile fingers pushed inside him, stretching him. It wasn’t long before he was breathless and panting, rocking between David’s fingers and his tongue. 

Dorian bit back a sigh when David slid his lips slowly off his cock, pushing himself up on his knees. He peeled his wet shirt off him slowly, his muscles flexing as he moved. Dorian bit his lip, letting his gaze roam over David’s form. He smoothed his palms down David’s sides, brushing his fingers over strong muscles and old scars. It was a wonder, David’s body; long, fluid lines, wide planes and sharp angles, smooth skin and jagged scars. He let his fingers glide over a raised patch on his arm as he watched in fascination while David undid the laces of his breeches and pushed them down and off him. Dorian sighed when he ran his fist slowly down David’s length- long and smooth like polished marble. 

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he said breathlessly, watching as David’s head fell back on a moan. 

“So have I,” David whispered, reaching in his pouch and removing a small vial of oil. He dropped some on his fingers, smoothing it over his length. “It’s hard to think of anything else when I’m around you.”

Dorian let out a small laugh, shivering slightly when David hovered over him once more, angling himself at his entrance. “Is your mind always in the gutter?” he mused, running his fingers through David’s wet hair, brushing his strands behind his ear. 

“You are always on my mind,” David said softly, running his tongue over Dorian’s lips as he gently pushed inside him. “That could hardly be called ‘gutter’, don’t you think?”

Instead of a response, Dorian buried his face in his neck, muffling his moans against his skin. He always felt so good, the way he stretched and filled him, the weight of his body on him, his musky smell enveloping him. Dorian arched underneath him, rocking against him, taking more of him in. “Amatus-”

David moaned softly, his tongue delving deep into his mouth as he picked up his pace, thrusting more and more urgently. Dorian wrapped his legs around his waist, pulling him close as his arms ran over his muscular back. He shivered when David’s lips slid to his ear, biting gently down on his earlobe. “You’re beautiful,” David whispered. “You’re so beautiful, my love.”

Dorian tightened his hold on him, hugging him close. His heart was beating furiously with the tenderness in David’s voice, the softness of his breath against his ear, the warmth and pleasure he was driving into him. “You are, too,” he managed through his moans, “David- oh, David-”

Blinding white light exploded behind his eyelids, warmth flooding his senses as he shuddered, pressing tightly against David’s body. It wasn’t long before David followed him over the edge, releasing his rapture in a guttural groan against Dorian’s throat. 

They both collapsed on the ground, their panting breaths mingling with the sound of the rain and thunder from outside. With their chests pressed against each other’s, Dorian could almost feel David’s heart beating inside his own ribcage. He smiled, nuzzling David’s ear, linking his ankles around his waist. “Think the rain will keep for another day or two?”

David hummed softly, pressing a kiss on Dorian’s neck before lifting his face to look at him. “Since when do you want the rain to last longer?”

Dorian's lips curled in a smirk, and he pushed a strand of chestnut hair behind David’s ear. “Since it lets me have you all to myself.”

“We’ll stay here for as long as you like, then.” David huffed a laugh, leaning down to kiss him deeply. “I’m all yours.” 

[altusmage]

‘👄 + CHARACTER NAME’ AND MY MUSE WILL SAY IF THEY FIND THEM ATTRACTIVE

@theharellan​ asked ;  👄+Blackwall

          ❝ that hairy lummox...? ❞ there’s a slight pause, almost as if dorian were thinking on the matter, picturing the man in his mind. with a slight quirk of a dark brow, he continued. ❝ ...a bit of a ❛man’s man❜, isn’t he? rugged and... burly... probably has rough hands... lonely, I’d imagine, keeping himself hidden in that barn all the time. there’s certainly a lot going on there — not that you’d be able to see much, for all that fuzz hiding his face.❞

          ❝ not that he’s not attractive, I can see the appeal but... he could probably do with a bit of grooming, don’t you think? the potential is there he just needs a little~ tidying up.❞ 

[ocean-in-my-rebel-soul]

For DWC “You can lie to yourself but don’t lie to me.” pairing of your choice.

Hello! Thanks for the prompt! Here’s some Dorian and Elara Lavellan, from my “Lavellan’s Knight” timeline. Enjoy! @dadrunkwriting

Dorian was waiting for her when she crept back to her quarters, tail between her legs; confused, hurt, and angry, she didn’t notice him until after she dove into the bed and crawled underneath the thick blankets.

“Do, at least, take your boots off before muddying those sheets, amica, or your poor steward will never let you hear the end of it.”

She shuffled under the bedclothes and toed off her boots before kicking them over the sides with a frustrated grunt.

“I’m sorry, I didn't quite hear that. Are you speaking any sort of language known to man?”

She pulled the blanket down just enough to expose her mouth. “Go away, Dorian.”

The mattress shifted under his weight at his approach and he settled comfortably against her mass of pillows. Elara burrowed further under the bedclothes.

“You can’t run from me, you know,” he said softly. A noise suspiciously close to a cork popping punctuated his words, and soon the only sounds were of pouring liquid. “You might as well have some wine and just tell me what’s wrong. Whatever it is, I’m sure half the keep knows by now, anyway.”

He was right, of course. He was always right. Damn him.

Elara shoved herself upright, took one of the offered mugs, and drank the wine in three swallows before gesturing for a refill. She repeated the process once more under his scrutiny, his raised brow asking questions before he did.

He cut her off at her third glass in as many minutes, taking the cup from her hand and stowing it somewhere off to his side.

“Now that I’ve got you properly hydrated, you’re going to tell me what happened on the ramparts this afternoon.”

“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it. Not now, not ever, forget it.”

He gripped her hand and hauled her back up with a sigh when she crawled back under the blankets. “You can lie to yourself but don’t lie to me, Elara,” he said, his flippant tone doing little to mask his annoyance. “You’re a miserable liar, anyway. Kaffas, amica. I saw you crumple from the rookery, and if I did, so did the rest of this Blighted stronghold of yours.”

She drew her legs to her chest, burying her face between her knees, her hair a shield from his imperious visage. Elara shuddered at the contact of his hand on her back, tentatively stroking as she huddled there.

“I had a… a lapse in judgment,” she said. “Ser Blackwall…”

Elara didn’t realize she had started crying until Dorian’s arms wrapped around her. “Shh, shh, dear one,” he muttered, his chin resting on the crown of her head. “What did the oaf do to offend you so?”

“He told me that whatever we had - what I thought we had - was… a mistake, a misunderstanding.”

Dorian huffed, his arms tensing around her. “What a glorious example of a - do correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe the proper word in these parts is ‘jackass.’ You’re better than that. You deserve better than that disgraceful, hairy lummox.”

She sniffled into his shirt, running the fingers of one hand over the shining buckles of the strange ensemble. “I thought that there was a…” she trailed off with a shake of her head.

“So did I. Maker, Elara, I saw that kiss - thought you two were going to burn the Chantry to the ground before you went off to face Corypheus, and he was far from an unwilling participant in that.”

“Don’t remind me,” she grumbled into his sleeve, a pained sob wracking her shoulders.

His hand stroked over her hair, fingers combing through the errant locks that escaped their tie. “If it makes you feel better,” he murmured thoughtfully, “half this keep would kill to be in my position. The other half would kill Blackwall for you, just to see your glorious smile again. Actually, those two groups might have some overlap.”

She smiled weakly against his shoulder, rubbing her tear-dampened cheek over the complicated fabrics of Dorian’s shirt. “And where would you be in all that mess?”

“Right here, fending them all off, of course. What kind of scandalous, illicit lover of the most sordid rumors do you take me for?” He chuckled, the low noise rumbling in his chest. “Surely my weekly arrival to your tower must have some use - I am in dreadful need of new target dummies, and a swathe of would-be suitors clambering up the stairs sounds like just the perfect thing.”

Elara laughed at the visual, wiping her tears away on the back of her hand. “As long as you don’t melt my staircase, have at it,” she declared with a dramatic wave. “I’m getting too old to be leaping down from story to story.”

“Nonsense, my dear, you hardly look a day over fifty.”

She punched him for that, a loose fist connecting halfheartedly with his bicep. “I’m thirty-five, masvian.”

“Whatever that means, I’m sure it only is a compliment, just as I’m sure you didn’t just call me an asshole in that beautiful language of yours.”

Elara laughed at his feigned indignance and curled up against him once more. Dorian passed her the confiscated wine glass and refilled it again.

“And here we are, in our proper routine. All is as it should be.”

She sighed at his declaration but did not object. It was good to have him here, even if she wanted to wallow. It was good to have a friend.

Send me a prompt! Reblogs and comments always welcome!

[breadedsinner]

coffeemages replied to your post “Amidst half the inner circle criticizing Blackwall for being dirty and...”

Me and Rota are gonna fight half the inner circle because Blackwall is a beautiful man

Usually Rota is super keen to sarcasm but when Dorian calls Blackwall a hairy lummox she’s like, “Don’t be jealous, Dorian. I’m sure one day that caterpillar on your face will evolve into something glorious, like what Blackwall has,” and he’s just flabbergasted because she sounds genuine and he does not know what to do with that.

[nyssatrevelyan]

Abandoned

Story available on Archive of Our Own, will update when I can.

Chapter 1

Nyssa had awoken alone.

For a moment, she was cold and disoriented, and she looked around blearily, trying to make sense of the world.  Straw was scratching her, and she was sore and naked and….

Blackwall.

She looked around the upper story of the barn, but aside from a cat prowling about looking for mice, she was alone.  She could hear the mounts shuffling and making quiet noises to themselves, and Horsemaster Dennet speaking to them softly.  Maker, if she could hear him….

Nyssa raked her fingers through her hair, and felt straw in it.  She blushed, groping for her clothing.  As she did, she noticed the soft gleam of metal by her feet, and leaned over.

Blackwall’s Warden-Commander badge.

A chill raced down Nyssa’s spine.  Why would he leave this here, with her?

By the time she’d made it down the stairs to the ground level of the barn, Dennet had blessedly found something to do outside by the well.  She was more than half convinced by the way he studiously stayed at the well that he HAD heard what had happened last night, and was trying to give her an escape route.

Might well be he was trying to give HIMSELF a way out of an uncomfortable encounter, too.

A piece of paper caught her attention, balanced against the griffon riding toy Blackwall had been carving.  She picked it up, her stomach knotting with dread.

 My lady:

 There is little I can say that will ease this pain.  Just know that while it hurt to leave, it would've hurt more if I stayed.  

I am deeply sorry. -- Blackwall

She stood, staring at the note, her mind racing.  He'd.... left?  He'd left, and had tried to make it seem... good that he'd left?

She gripped the parchment hard, unconscious of crumpling it in her suddenly damp fist. It couldn't be, he loved her and she loved him, he wouldn't  --

Unless...

Her cheeks burned with shame.  She hadn't told him, not until they were already.... that this -- that he was her first love.

He'd stopped, frozen for a moment, and she'd seen something in his eyes -- indecision? Worry?  For a moment she'd thought he'd stop, and had begged him to go on.  He'd seemed to come to some decision, and instead of stopping, he'd been very gentle and compassionate, attentive to her beyond all imaginings.  He'd coaxed her to pleasure repeatedly, until she'd dozed off, limp and exhausted, nestled against his side.

Maybe.... maybe he hadn't liked her.  Maybe her inexperience....  Or worse, maybe he'd never liked her.  Maybe he had only wanted to bed the Inquisitor.  People were attracted to power, and she was no fool -- she was attractive enough, physically....

Maybe that was all he'd ever wanted of her.

Her stomach twisted with nausea as she turned toward the barn door and saw a scout standing there.

“Sister Leliana has confirmed it.  Blackwall has gone.”

Nyssa nodded slightly, the parchment damp and crumpled in her fist, then noticed the look of sympathy in the runner’s eyes.  She looked away quickly, her face suffusing with shame.  “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice barely able to get around the lump in her throat.  “That will be all.”

She didn’t run.  A lifetime of Circle training took over, and she walked purposefully but without unseemly, eye-catching haste – her hand wrapped so tightly around the Constable’s badge that the edges cut painfully into her hand. 

He should never have allowed her to accompany him back to the stables.

Blackwall tightened the cinches on his -- well, the Inquisition's horse, really, but the little gelding he rode most often when they went into the field.  Brown as dirt, steady, with a deceptive gait that ate up distance even with a hairy lummox like him aboard.

The gelding turned to look at him, nudging the warrior with a soft nicker. Blackwall usually had a carrot or an apple for him, but now, tonight -- he hadn't taken the time to get one from the kitchens.

He glanced at the ceiling above him praying that even this slight noise wouldn't give him away, heard nothing, and turned back to his task.   With every buckle fastened, disgust, guilt and sorrow made him more desperate to be away.

He'd known he was worthless.   He'd known and he'd begged Nyssa to believe him when he said he was nobody, and that there no life they could have together.  And now she was another regret, another stain on his soul -- another life he'd fouled and ruined, just because he was too weak to do the right thing and leave her alone.  A woman twenty years his junior... bad enough he was old enough to be her father, but the life she'd had forced on her had left her far more innocent than he'd realized.

He'd wanted to believe her.  That was his only excuse, and still, the blame was his entirely, not hers.  He'd wanted to believe her when she told him she knew he was a good man, he'd wanted to believe her when she looked at the death and destruction in his wake and said, "You don't have to face this alone."  And blessed Andraste, the way she looked at him, and the gentleness of her touch... the way she believed in him, trusted him....

He should never have let her accompany him back from the tavern.  They'd drunk some, but he wouldn't excuse himself with that.  He hadn't been drunk.  Neither had she.  The difference was he'd known, he'd known from the moment he asked her to accompany him to the tavern that he would be leaving.  He'd known what he was doing, and couldn't -- and didn't want to stop.  She had probably imagined this was the start of their life together when he knew, he'd always known, it was goodbye.

Another lie.  Another betrayal.

He leaned forward, his head against the saddle, a hand over his eyes, his breath unsteady. The one person in the world who thought him worth something, and to do this to her....

He swallowed, straightened, and continued his task, now fastening his saddlebags to the saddle.

He'd taken her innocence on a stack of hay bales in a stable.

The shame of that hit him like a hammer blow; it took his breath away.  He hadn't realized until her sharp gasp, and when he'd realized, tried to disengage, she'd clutched him tighter and pleaded with him not to worry, to go on, that she loved him....

A worthless bastard like him.

He'd loved her like a man possessed, whispering his adoration of her with every stroke -and then he'd loved her again, kissing her, stroking her, licking her.  He'd managed to build her pleasure, tease her until she came, stifling her cries in his shoulder.

He could still taste her.  Maker, he had thought to take the memory of her to his pyre, but once he realized that he was the first man she'd lain with, he'd used every technique he knew to bring her to fruition, three times to his once.  To leave her with at least one good memory of him.

"She's happy."

He gasped, whirling.  Cole, of course.  "Maker's balls," he swore, taking the horse's reins.

"Guilt, shame, another life ruined, another lie, another betrayal -- go before I can't. It's better this way." Those pale eyes looked at him from beneath a fringe of limp blonde hair and that ridiculous hat.  "You don't want to go.... and she needs you."

"The last thing she needs is me," Blackwall said.  "Maker forgive me for hurting her like this -- I know I can't."  He looked at the strange spirit boy.   "Let her sleep," he begged.  "Let her have some happiness before she realizes.... before I'm gone."  He led the horse outside.

"She loves you."  Cole sounded a little confused, a little worried.  "She'd help, I know she'd help!  She'd want to -- "

"No, Cole!"  The whisper came sharp, and fierce.  "She mustn't know, she mustn't.... it's kinder to let her remember me as she sees me -- not as I am."

Blackwall mounted the gelding.  "Let her dream," he repeated softly.  "Let her have some peace.  Maker knows she gets little enough of it."

He'd left the note on the unfinished griffon riding toy -- and the Warden-Constable badge beside her.

Let her love the dream.  The reality would be a bitter disappointment.

He'd ridden through the silent, empty courtyard and out of Skyhold, alone.

When Dorian knocked at Nyssa's door a few hours later, it was opened after a good few minutes of fumbling.

Nyssa was swaying slightly as she held the door open, a bottle of Gwaren whisky clutched by its neck in her left hand.  The bottle glowed a peculiar green as the mark pulsed against the cold glass. “Dorian!” she said, a bit too loudly.  “C’mon in, have a drink with me, cousin!”

Dorian stepped in, shutting the door and guiding her back up the steps with his hand gently resting on the small of her back.  “I see it’s been that sort of day for you this time, Nyssa.”

“He’s gone,” she said, plopping gracelessly onto the couch by the top of the stairs and taking another swig from the bottle.  She coughed, then looked away at the pattern in the carpet.  “Gone,” she repeated.   “Without a word.”

She didn't need to clarify:   runners had been racing through the library up to and down from Leliana's roost all day.  It hadn't been long before he knew that Blackwall had gone, whither no one knew.

“Somehow it doesn’t feel very gratifying to have been right about his boorishness.” Dorian reached over and gently tugged the bottle from her fingers, then took a swig himself.  His nose wrinkled at the taste.  “Nyssa, I thought you had better taste than this.”

“It’s strong,” she said, raking her fingers through her hair.  “I need strong.”

He considered the missing Warden, and kicked himself for having encouraging her in her pursuit.  Yes, she had been attracted to Blackwall, probably his physical strength.  He WAS quite a burly man, and muscular.  What must he have seemed to her when mages tended to be lithe?  He was larger than Cullen, and any of the templars in the courtyard sparring.   He must have felt safe, like protection.  But there was also that quiet resolve to do one's duty as one must.  Duty, sacrifice, and honor.  Nyssa had fallen for that, too.

Dorian huffed, trying to distract her as he considered how best to help her.   "I suspect the last thing you'll need in the morning is the hangover this swill will trigger."  He sat beside her on the couch.  "But, if needs must, we'll be miserable together.  Mother Giselle can shoot me some more dirty looks and make a few veiled comments about my undue influence on you, but ha! the joke will be on her -- it will be your influence over me!"

Nyssa stopped, looking stricken.  "I don't want that 'bad Tevinter' nonsense coming back up."

"Well, I AM a bad Tevinter.  Ask my countrymen."  He smiled at her, leaning and crossing his leg negligently.  His rings flashed as he saluted her with the bottle.

Nyssa flopped back against the couch, groaning.

Dorian took one more swallow of the whiskey, then set it out of her reach, shaking his head at the taste.  "People come and go from Skyhold for all sorts of reasons.  Why is this particularly upsetting to you?  I know you were fond of...."

She closed her eyes, took a breath.  "Because I spent the night with him," she said in a small voice.  "And when I woke, he was gone."

Dorian went still, his grey eyes darkening.  Oh, he knew how that went, well enough.  The difference being that he had known each time what the outcome would be come the morning.  Clearly, Nyssa had not.

She sat forward, elbows on her knees, running her fingers through her hair nervously.  "I feel so stupid," she said, her voice tight and shaky.  "I'm not... I hadn't...."  She stilled, unable to meet his eyes.  "Maybe.... I just wasn't g--"

Maker.  She was ashamed.

Dorian shook his head. "Stop.  I refuse to listen to you running down my best friend."  There was anger smouldering in his eyes, but Nyssa could also see -- not pity, but understanding.  He put a hand on her shoulder.  "No matter what you may think or feel, it has nothing  to do with you, and everything in the world to do with his being a swine."

Nyssa shook her head bitterly.  "Everyone leaves me," she muttered.

"Nyssa...."

She looked over at him.  "Everyone, Dorian.  My parents... they couldn't get the templars out to take me away fast enough.  When I was in the Circle, I didn't.... I wasn't able to inherit but I had it pounded into my head that there had better not be any Trevelyan mage bastards.  So I wouldn't.... and my friend decided to move on to someone who would."  She drew a short, shuddering breath.  "And when the Circle dissolved -- my Aunt Lucille took me, just long enough to send me to the Conclave with my templar and clerical cousins.  They're all dead now."  She sat stiffly.  "So this, this being alone thing, it's not new to me.  But it still hurts.  It hurts that no one stays, ever."

He sighed, and there was something unreadable in his eyes as he slid closer and wrapped an arm around her, tugging her close.  "I'm afraid you're stuck with me, my dear.  Poor as that company may be."   He felt her start to relax against his shoulder fractionally, and patted her back gently, soothingly.  "And one of the first things we are going to work on, beside your perception that you are somehow unworthy of people's regard, is your pedestrian taste in alcohol.   Surely as Inquisitor you should have better ways to drown your sorrows!"

He sat there, soothing her, until she finally fell asleep.

[chantrytears]

Okay, you got me curious. What's fanon Blackwall like?

So in a good amount of Lady Inquisitor/Not Blackwall (often Cullen) fics, Blackwall is… god, I don’t have a word for it other than creepy or flat-out rapey. He lurks around sulkily, lusting after the Inquisitor and almost always makes some kind of Unwanted Move on her. Or he’s just jealous and pathetic throughout the entire fic. He’s basically just a cheap tactic to make Cullen or whoever a Golden Savior.

I haaaate

Yes, Blackwall was an awful person in his past. Emphasis on was. In the game, he’s self-sacrificing, self-denying and pretty damn noble, doing what he can to atone for his sins, even going so far as to knowingly walk to his death. I doubt his idea of atonement involves becoming a stalker and trying to molest the woman he supposedly loves.

I love that hairy lummox so much. He deserves better than what the fandom made him into.

[breadedsinner]

Rota always thought Blackwall was the most attractive man in Haven/Skyhold and, even having spent a lot of time with humans, was surprised to discover most others didn’t think so. She was a little offended learning this, really.

Like when Dorian calls him a hairy lummox and it’s clearly meant to be negative, she says, “Oh don’t be jealous, Dorian, I’m sure that caterpillar on your face will transform into a glorious beard like Blackwall’s someday,”.

And it takes Dorian ten whole seconds to process that she was being sincere.

[nyssatrevelyan]

Abandoned

Chapter 1

Nyssa had awoken alone.

For a moment, she was cold and disoriented, and she looked around blearily, trying to make sense of the world.  Straw was scratching her, and she was sore and naked and….

Blackwall.

She looked around the upper story of the barn, but aside from a cat prowling about looking for mice, she was alone.  She could hear the mounts shuffling and making quiet noises to themselves, and Horsemaster Dennet speaking to them softly.  Maker, if she could hear him….

Nyssa raked her fingers through her hair, and felt straw in it.  She blushed, groping for her clothing.  As she did, she noticed the soft gleam of metal by her feet, and leaned over.

Blackwall’s Warden-Commander badge.

A chill raced down Nyssa’s spine.  Why would he leave this here, with her?

Keep Reading on AO3

By the time she’d made it down the stairs to the ground level of the barn, Dennet had blessedly found something to do outside by the well.  She was more than half convinced by the way he studiously stayed at the well that he HAD heard what had happened last night, and was trying to give her an escape route.

Might well be he was trying to give HIMSELF a way out of an uncomfortable encounter, too.

A piece of paper caught her attention, balanced against the griffon riding toy Blackwall had been carving.  She picked it up, her stomach knotting with dread.

 My lady:

 There is little I can say that will ease this pain.  Just know that while it hurt to leave, it would've hurt more if I stayed.  

I am deeply sorry. -- Blackwall

She stood, staring at the note, her mind racing.  He'd.... left?  He'd left, and had tried to make it seem... good that he'd left?

She gripped the parchment hard, unconscious of crumpling it in her suddenly damp fist. It couldn't be, he loved her and she loved him, he wouldn't  --

Unless...

Her cheeks burned with shame.  She hadn't told him, not until they were already.... that this -- that he was her first love.

He'd stopped, frozen for a moment, and she'd seen something in his eyes -- indecision? Worry?  For a moment she'd thought he'd stop, and had begged him to go on.  He'd seemed to come to some decision, and instead of stopping, he'd been very gentle and compassionate, attentive to her beyond all imaginings.  He'd coaxed her to pleasure repeatedly, until she'd dozed off, limp and exhausted, nestled against his side.

Maybe.... maybe he hadn't liked her.  Maybe her inexperience....  Or worse, maybe he'd never liked her.  Maybe he had only wanted to bed the Inquisitor.  People were attracted to power, and she was no fool -- she was attractive enough, physically....

Maybe that was all he'd ever wanted of her.

Her stomach twisted with nausea as she turned toward the barn door and saw a scout standing there.

“Sister Leliana has confirmed it.  Blackwall has gone.”

Nyssa nodded slightly, the parchment damp and crumpled in her fist, then noticed the look of sympathy in the runner’s eyes.  She looked away quickly, her face suffusing with shame.  “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice barely able to get around the lump in her throat.  “That will be all.”

She didn’t run.  A lifetime of Circle training took over, and she walked purposefully but without unseemly, eye-catching haste – her hand wrapped so tightly around the Constable’s badge that the edges cut painfully into her hand.

He should never have allowed her to accompany him back to the stables.

Blackwall tightened the cinches on his -- well, the Inquisition's horse, really, but the little gelding he rode most often when they went into the field.  Brown as dirt, steady, with a deceptive gait that ate up distance even with a hairy lummox like him aboard.

The gelding turned to look at him, nudging the warrior with a soft nicker. Blackwall usually had a carrot or an apple for him, but now, tonight -- he hadn't taken the time to get one from the kitchens.

He glanced at the ceiling above him praying that even this slight noise wouldn't give him away, heard nothing, and turned back to his task.   With every buckle fastened, disgust, guilt and sorrow made him more desperate to be away.

He'd known he was worthless.   He'd known and he'd begged Nyssa to believe him when he said he was nobody, and that there no life they could have together.  And now she was another regret, another stain on his soul -- another life he'd fouled and ruined, just because he was too weak to do the right thing and leave her alone.  A woman twenty years his junior... bad enough he was old enough to be her father, but the life she'd had forced on her had left her far more innocent than he'd realized.

He'd wanted to believe her.  That was his only excuse, and still, the blame was his entirely, not hers.  He'd wanted to believe her when she told him she knew he was a good man, he'd wanted to believe her when she looked at the death and destruction in his wake and said, "You don't have to face this alone."  And blessed Andraste, the way she looked at him, and the gentleness of her touch... the way she believed in him, trusted him....

He should never have let her accompany him back from the tavern.  They'd drunk some, but he wouldn't excuse himself with that.  He hadn't been drunk.  Neither had she.  The difference was he'd known, he'd known from the moment he asked her to accompany him to the tavern that he would be leaving.  He'd known what he was doing, and couldn't -- and didn't want to stop.  She had probably imagined this was the start of their life together when he knew, he'd always known, it was goodbye.

Another lie.  Another betrayal.

He leaned forward, his head against the saddle, a hand over his eyes, his breath unsteady. The one person in the world who thought him worth something, and to do this to her....

He swallowed, straightened, and continued his task, now fastening his saddlebags to the saddle.

He'd taken her innocence on a stack of hay bales in a stable.

The shame of that hit him like a hammer blow; it took his breath away.  He hadn't realized until her sharp gasp, and when he'd realized, tried to disengage, she'd clutched him tighter and pleaded with him not to worry, to go on, that she loved him....

A worthless bastard like him.

He'd loved her like a man possessed, whispering his adoration of her with every stroke -and then he'd loved her again, kissing her, stroking her, licking her.  He'd managed to build her pleasure, tease her until she came, stifling her cries in his shoulder.

He could still taste her.  Maker, he had thought to take the memory of her to his pyre, but once he realized that he was the first man she'd lain with, he'd used every technique he knew to bring her to fruition, three times to his once.  To leave her with at least one good memory of him.

"She's happy."

He gasped, whirling.  Cole, of course.  "Maker's balls," he swore, taking the horse's reins.

"Guilt, shame, another life ruined, another lie, another betrayal -- go before I can't. It's better this way." Those pale eyes looked at him from beneath a fringe of limp blonde hair and that ridiculous hat.  "You don't want to go.... and she needs you."

"The last thing she needs is me," Blackwall said.  "Maker forgive me for hurting her like this -- I know I can't."  He looked at the strange spirit boy.   "Let her sleep," he begged.  "Let her have some happiness before she realizes.... before I'm gone."  He led the horse outside.

"She loves you."  Cole sounded a little confused, a little worried.  "She'd help, I know she'd help!  She'd want to -- "

"No, Cole!"  The whisper came sharp, and fierce.  "She mustn't know, she mustn't.... it's kinder to let her remember me as she sees me -- not as I am."

Blackwall mounted the gelding.  "Let her dream," he repeated softly.  "Let her have some peace.  Maker knows she gets little enough of it."

He'd left the note on the unfinished griffon riding toy -- and the Warden-Constable badge beside her.

Let her love the dream.  The reality would be a bitter disappointment.

He'd ridden through the silent, empty courtyard and out of Skyhold, alone.

When Dorian knocked at Nyssa's door a few hours later, it was opened after a good few minutes of fumbling.

Nyssa was swaying slightly as she held the door open, a bottle of Gwaren whisky clutched by its neck in her left hand.  The bottle glowed a peculiar green as the mark pulsed against the cold glass. “Dorian!” she said, a bit too loudly.  “C’mon in, have a drink with me, cousin!”

Dorian stepped in, shutting the door and guiding her back up the steps with his hand gently resting on the small of her back.  “I see it’s been that sort of day for you this time, Nyssa.”

“He’s gone,” she said, plopping gracelessly onto the couch by the top of the stairs and taking another swig from the bottle.  She coughed, then looked away at the pattern in the carpet.  “Gone,” she repeated.   “Without a word.”

She didn't need to clarify:   runners had been racing through the library up to and down from Leliana's roost all day.  It hadn't been long before he knew that Blackwall had gone, whither no one knew.

“Somehow it doesn’t feel very gratifying to have been right about his boorishness.” Dorian reached over and gently tugged the bottle from her fingers, then took a swig himself.  His nose wrinkled at the taste.  “Nyssa, I thought you had better taste than this.”

“It’s strong,” she said, raking her fingers through her hair.  “I need strong.”

He considered the missing Warden, and kicked himself for having encouraged her in her pursuit.  Yes, she had been attracted to Blackwall, probably his physical strength.  He WAS quite a burly man, and muscular.  What must he have seemed to her when mages tended to be lithe?  He was larger than Cullen, and any of the templars in the courtyard sparring.   He must have felt safe, like protection.  But there was also that quiet resolve to do one's duty as one must.  Duty, sacrifice, and honor.   Nyssa had fallen for that, too.

Dorian huffed, trying to distract her as he considered how best to help her.  "I suspect the last thing you'll need in the morning is the hangover this swill will trigger."  He sat beside her on the couch.  "But, if needs must, we'll be miserable together.  Mother Giselle can shoot me some more dirty looks and make a few veiled comments about my undue influence on you, but ha! the joke will be on her -- it will be your influence over me!"

Nyssa stopped, looking stricken.  "I don't want that 'bad Tevinter' nonsense coming back up."

"Well, I AM a bad Tevinter.  Ask my countrymen."  He smiled at her, leaning and crossing his leg negligently.  His rings flashed as he saluted her with the bottle.

Nyssa flopped back against the couch, groaning.

Dorian took one more swallow of the whiskey, then set it out of her reach, shaking his head at the taste.  "People come and go from Skyhold for all sorts of reasons.  Why is this particularly upsetting to you?  I know you were fond of...."

She closed her eyes, took a breath.  "Because I spent the night with him," she said in a small voice.  "And when I woke, he was gone."

Dorian went still, his grey eyes darkening.  Oh, he knew how that went, well enough.  The difference being that he had known each time what the outcome would be come the morning.  Clearly, Nyssa had not.

She sat forward, elbows on her knees, running her fingers through her hair nervously.  "I feel so stupid," she said, her voice tight and shaky.  "I'm not... I hadn't...."  She stilled, unable to meet his eyes.  "Maybe.... I just wasn't g--"

Maker.  She was ashamed.

Dorian shook his head. "Stop.  I refuse to listen to you running down my best friend."  There was anger smouldering in his eyes, but Nyssa could also see -- not pity, but understanding.  He put a hand on her shoulder.  "No matter what you may think or feel, it has nothing  to do with you, and everything in the world to do with his being a swine."

Nyssa shook her head bitterly.  "Everyone leaves me," she muttered.

"Nyssa...."

She looked over at him.  "Everyone, Dorian.  My parents... they couldn't get the templars out to take me away fast enough.  When I was in the Circle, I didn't.... I wasn't able to inherit but I had it pounded into my head that there had better not be any Trevelyan mage bastards.  So I wouldn't.... and my friend decided to move on to someone who would."  She drew a short, shuddering breath.  "And when the Circle dissolved -- my Aunt Lucille took me, just long enough to send me to the Conclave with my templar and clerical cousins.  They're all dead now."  She sat stiffly.  "So this, this being alone thing, it's not new to me.  But it still hurts.  It hurts that no one stays, ever."

He sighed, and there was something unreadable in his eyes as he slid closer and wrapped an arm around her, tugging her close.  "I'm afraid you're stuck with me, my dear.  Poor as that company may be."   He felt her start to relax against his shoulder fractionally, and patted her back gently, soothingly.  "And one of the first things we are going to work on, beside your perception that you are somehow unworthy of people's regard, is your pedestrian taste in alcohol.   Surely as Inquisitor you should have better ways to drown your sorrows!"

He sat there, soothing her, until she finally fell asleep.

[nyssatrevelyan]

Abandoned

Abandoned   2,333 words

Nyssa had awoken alone.

For a moment, she was cold and disoriented, and she looked around blearily, trying to make sense of the world.  Straw was scratching her, and she was sore and naked and….

Blackwall.

She looked around the upper story of the barn, but aside from a cat prowling about looking for mice, she was alone.  She could hear the mounts shuffling and making quiet noises to themselves, and Horsemaster Dennet speaking to them softly.  Maker, if she could hear him….

Nyssa raked her fingers through her hair, and felt straw in it.  She blushed, groping for her clothing.  As she did, she noticed the soft gleam of metal by her feet, and leaned over.

Blackwall’s Warden-Commander badge.

A chill raced down Nyssa’s spine.  Why would he leave this here, with her?

By the time she’d made it down the stairs to the ground level of the barn, Dennet had blessedly found something to do outside by the well.  She was more than half convinced by the way he studiously stayed at the well that he HAD heard what had happened last night, and was trying to give her an escape route.

Might well be he was trying to give HIMSELF a way out of an uncomfortable encounter, too.

A piece of paper caught her attention, balanced against the griffon riding toy Blackwall had been carving.  She picked it up, her stomach knotting with dread.

 My lady:

 There is little I can say that will ease this pain.  Just know that while it hurt to leave, it would've hurt more if I stayed.  

I am deeply sorry. -- Blackwall

She stood, staring at the note, her mind racing.  He'd.... left?  He'd left, and had tried to make it seem... good that he'd left?

She gripped the parchment hard, unconscious of crumpling it in her suddenly damp fist. It couldn't be, he loved her and she loved him, he wouldn't  --

Unless...

Her cheeks burned with shame.  She hadn't told him, not until they were already.... that this -- that he was her first love.

He'd stopped, frozen for a moment, and she'd seen something in his eyes -- indecision? Worry?  For a moment she'd thought he'd stop, and had begged him to go on.  He'd seemed to come to some decision, and instead of stopping, he'd been very gentle and compassionate, attentive to her beyond all imaginings.  He'd coaxed her to pleasure repeatedly, until she'd dozed off, limp and exhausted, nestled against his side.

Maybe.... maybe he hadn't liked her.  Maybe her inexperience....  Or worse, maybe he'd never liked her.  Maybe he had only wanted to bed the Inquisitor.  People were attracted to power, and she was no fool -- she was attractive enough, physically....

Maybe that was all he'd ever wanted of her.

Her stomach twisted with nausea as she turned toward the barn door and saw a scout standing there.

“Sister Leliana has confirmed it.  Blackwall has gone.”

Nyssa nodded slightly, the parchment damp and crumpled in her fist, then noticed the look of sympathy in the runner’s eyes.  She looked away quickly, her face suffusing with shame.  “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice barely able to get around the lump in her throat.  “That will be all.”

She didn’t run.  A lifetime of Circle training took over, and she walked purposefully but without unseemly, eye-catching haste – her hand wrapped so tightly around the Constable’s badge that the edges cut painfully into her hand.

He should never have allowed her to accompany him back to the stables.

Blackwall tightened the cinches on his -- well, the Inquisition's horse, really, but the little gelding he rode most often when they went into the field.  Brown as dirt, steady, with a deceptive gait that ate up distance even with a hairy lummox like him aboard.

The gelding turned to look at him, nudging the warrior with a soft nicker. Blackwall usually had a carrot or an apple for him, but now, tonight -- he hadn't taken the time to get one from the kitchens.

He glanced at the ceiling above him praying that even this slight noise wouldn't give him away, heard nothing, and turned back to his task.   With every buckle fastened, disgust, guilt and sorrow made him more desperate to be away.

He'd known he was worthless.   He'd known and he'd begged Nyssa to believe him when he said he was nobody, and that there no life they could have together.  And now she was another regret, another stain on his soul -- another life he'd fouled and ruined, just because he was too weak to do the right thing and leave her alone.  A woman twenty years his junior... bad enough he was old enough to be her father, but the life she'd had forced on her had left her far more innocent than he'd realized.

He'd wanted to believe her.  That was his only excuse, and stiil, the blame was his entirely, not hers.  He'd wanted to believe her when she told him she knew he was a good man, he'd wanted to believe her when she looked at the death and destruction in his wake and said, "You don't have to face this alone."  And blessed Andraste, the way she looked at him, and the gentleness of her touch... the way she believed in him, trusted him....

He should never have let her accompany him back from the tavern.  They'd drunk some, but he wouldn't excuse himself with that.  He hadn't been drunk.  Neither had she.  The difference was he'd known, he'd known from the moment he asked her to accompany him to the tavern that he would be leaving.  He'd known what he was doing, and couldn't -- and didn't want to stop.  She had probably imagined this was the start of their life together when he knew, he'd always known, it was goodbye.

Another lie.  Another betrayal.

He leaned forward, his head against the saddle, a hand over his eyes, his breath unsteady. The one person in the world who thought him worth something, and to do this to her....

He swallowed, straightened, and continued his task, now fastening his saddlebags to the saddle.

He'd taken her innocence on a stack of hay bales in a stable.

The shame of that hit him like a hammer blow; it took his breath away.  He hadn't realized until her sharp gasp, and when he'd realized, tried to disengage, she'd clutched him tighter and pleaded with him not to worry, to go on, that she loved him....

A worthless bastard like him.

He'd loved her like a man possessed, whispering his adoration of her with every stroke -and then he'd loved her again, kissing her, stroking her, licking her.  He'd managed to build her pleasure, tease her until she came, stifling her cries in his shoulder.

He could still taste her.  Maker, he had thought to take the memory of her to his pyre, but once he realized that he was the first man she'd lain with, he'd used every technique he knew to bring her to fruition, three times to his once.  To leave her with at least one good memory of him.

"She's happy."

He gasped, whirling.  Cole, of course.  "Maker's balls," he swore, taking the horse's reins.

"Guilt, shame, another life ruined, another lie, another betrayal -- go before I can't. It's better this way." Those pale eyes looked at him from beneath a fringe of limp blonde hair and that ridiculous hat.  "You don't want to go.... and she needs you."

"The last thing she needs is me," Blackwall said.  "Maker forgive me for hurting her like this -- I know I can't."  He looked at the strange spirit boy.   "Let her sleep," he begged.  "Let her have some happiness before she realizes.... before I'm gone."  He led the horse outside.

"She loves you."  Cole sounded a little confused, a little worried.  "She'd help, I know she'd help!  She'd want to -- "

"No, Cole!"  The whisper came sharp, and fierce.  "She mustn't know, she mustn't.... it's kinder to let her remember me as she sees me -- not as I am."

Blackwall mounted the gelding.  "Let her dream," he repeated softly.  "Let her have some peace.  Maker knows she gets little enough of it."

He'd left the note on the unfinished griffon riding toy -- and the Warden-Constable badge beside her.

Let her love the dream.  The reality would be a bitter disappointment.

He'd ridden through the silent, empty courtyard and out of Skyhold, alone.

When Dorian knocked at Nyssa's door a few hours later, it was opened after a good few minutes of fumbling.

Nyssa was swaying slightly as she held the door open, a bottle of Gwaren whisky clutched by its neck in her left hand.  The bottle glowed a peculiar green as the mark pulsed against the cold dglass. “Dorian!” she said, a bit too loudly.  “C’mon in, have a drink with me, cousin!”

Dorian stepped in, shutting the door and guiding her back up the steps with his hand gently resting on the small of her back.  “I see it’s been that sort of day for you this time, Nyssa.”

“He’s gone,” she said, plopping gracelessly onto the couch by the top of the stairs and taking another swig from the bottle.  She coughed, then looked away at the pattern in the carpet.  “Gone,” she repeated.   “Without a word.”

She didn't need to clarify:   runners had been racing through the library up to and down from Leliana's roost all day.  It hadn't been long before he knew that Blackwall had gone, whither no one knew.

“Somehow it doesn’t feel very gratifying to have been right about his boorishness.” Dorian reached over and gently tugged the bottle from her fingers, then took a swig himself.  His nose wrinkled at the taste.  “Nyssa, I thought you had better taste than this.”

“It’s strong,” she said, raking her fingers through her hair.  “I need strong.”

He considered the missing Warden, and kicked himself for having encouraging her in her pursuit.  Yes, she had been attracted to Blackwall, probably his physical strength.  He WAS quite a burly man, and muscular.  What must he have seemed to her when mages tended to be lithe?  He was larger than Cullen, and any of the templars in the courtyard sparring.   He must have felt safe, like protection.  But there was also that quiet resolve to do one's duty as one must.  Nyssa had fallen for that, too.

Dorian huffed, trying to distract her as he considered how best to help her.  "I suspect the last thing you'll need in the morning is the hangover this swill will trigger."  He sat beside her on the couch.  "But, if needs must, we'll be miserable together.  Mother Giselle can shoot me some more dirty looks and make a few veiled comments about my undue influence on you, but ha! the joke will be on her -- it will be your influence over me!"

Nyssa stopped, looking stricken.  "I don't want that 'bad Tevinter' nonsense coming back up."

"Well, I AM a bad Tevinter.  Ask my countrymen."  He smiled at her, leaning and crossing his leg negligently.  His rings flashed as he saluted her with the bottle.

Nyssa flopped back against the couch, groaning.

Dorian took one more swallow of the whiskey, then set it out of her reach, shaking his head at the taste.  "People come and go from Skyhold for all sorts of reasons.  Why is this particularly upsetting to you?  I know you were fond of...."

She closed her eyes, took a breath.  "Because I spent the night with him," she said in a small voice.  "And when I woke, he was gone."

Dorian went still, his grey eyes darkening.  Oh, he knew how that went, well enough.  The difference being that he had known each time what the outcome would be come the morning.  Clearly, Nyssa had not.

She sat forward, elbows on her knees, running her fingers through her hair nervously.  "I feel so stupid," she said, her voice tight and shaky.  "I'm not... I hadn't...."  She stilled, unable to meet his eyes.  "Maybe.... I just wasn't g--"

Maker.  She was ashamed.

Dorian shook his head. "Stop.  I refuse to listen to you running down my best friend."  There was anger smouldering in his eyes, but Nyssa could also see -- not pity, but understanding.  He put a hand on her shoulder.  "No matter what you may think or feel, it has nothing  to do with you, and everything in the world to do with his being a swine."

Nyssa shook her head bitterly.  "Everyone leaves me," she muttered.

"Nyssa...."

She looked over at him.  "Everyone, Dorian.  My parents... they couldn't get the templars out to take me away fast enough.  When I was in the Circle, I didn't.... I wasn't able to inherit but I had it pounded into my head that there had better not be any Trevelyan mage bastards.  So I wouldn't.... and my friend decided to move on to someone who would."  She drew a short, shuddering breath.  "And when the Circle dissolved -- my Aunt Lucille took me, just long enough to send me to the Conclave with my templar and clerical cousins.  They're all dead now."  She sat stiffly.  "So this, this being alone thing, it's not new to me.  But it still hurts.  It hurts that no one stays, ever."

He sighed, and there was something unreadable in his eyes as he slid closer and wrapped an arm around her, tugging her close.  "I'm afraid you're stuck with me, my dear.  Poor as that company may be."   He felt her start to relax against his shoulder fractionally, and patted her back gently, soothingly.  "And one of the first things we are going to work on, beside your perception that you are somehow unworthy of people's regard, is your pedestrian taste in alcohol.   Surely as Inquisitor you should have better ways to drown your sorrows!"

He sat there, soothing her, until she finally fell asleep.