#Felix Pavus

[trashwarden]

Happy Dragon Age Day!

This is from 2021 but I don’t think I ever posted it. Dorian talking with his son Felix.

Still grateful to DA for the friends I’ve made while gushing over the game, Dorian specifically 🥹

[veatomis]

my inquisitor’s kids <3

[j-nightingalesb1tch]

incorrect dragon age inquisition quotes

dorian: "would you tell anyone if i killed someone?"

felix: "no, but i'd use it against you all the time. i'd be like, "are you gonna wash the dishes or do i have to make a phone call?"

[not-poignant]

I think it will come as no surprise to anyone that I love gremlin man Astarion (also known as vampire Dorian Pavus no I'll be accepting no constructive criticism at this time) and think about ways to fic him all the time.

It cracks me up that like, Reddit threads are a mix of 'I kill him ASAP' 'I never take him anywhere' and then folks like me who are like 'he's always on my party I would die for him.'

Also it's really not that hard to play a hero, save everyone, have him in your party 24/7 and keep his approval up you just gotta be willing to trick a whole bunch of villains into killing themselves through wordplay and you're golden dsalkjfsa

[hoiist]

continuation of this and this

@spindlewit did it again, and im crying in the club tonight. Thank you also to @wabart for as always letting me steal Syril

as always, please consider supporting your local spindle

[merrybandofmurderers]

“I should have been the one to die, not him.”

Death

[greypetrel]

A Dalish Elf and two Tevinter Mages enter a tavern...

They collapsed, in absolute mental exhaustion from too much study and work, writing their six-handed dissertation on the very important, much academic question: “Is it better to drink bad wine or bad beer?”. After careful studies and experimentations, they concluded that beer is better. If you’re in a country too cold for good grapes, at least.

I don’t see enough love for Felix, so I decided to give him some myself. And nothing, three idiots coping with existential crisis, researches that do work but in working almost destroyed the world, imminent death, FEELZ. A new friend gets adopted, because this shit is weird so we’d better go with the flow of weirdness.

*** [ The morning post the events of In Hushed Whispers, The Gull and the Lantern, Redcliffe Village. ]

Come morning, Seeker Pentaghast has to but step out of her room to be met with the first problem of the day. She hoped, going to sleep, that the next day would have been better. The next day couldn’t be worse than the one before, couldn’t be worse than the shy, demure, sweet elf actually stepping up to her role and both enrolling a bunch of rebel mages as full-fledged allies, and come face to face with the rulers of Ferelden and refusing to lower her eyes. Weren’t it her mess to clean up -and Josephine’s and Leliana’s and she didn’t want to hear Leliana’s opinion on the matter-, she would have been impressed. But it was her mess to clean up, and she could feel a headache forming just thinking of accommodating the Mages at Haven, in the little space they were allotted, and having them coexist with the Templar they had in house. So, half of her was impressed, the other half hoped Cullen would have eaten her alive so she wouldn’t have to be the one to dispose of her dead body.

Today couldn’t possibly be worse.

And yet, as she steps out of her room, there’s Solas banging on the Herald’s door, shouting to just open up. She can’t but think, forlornly, that she isn’t gonna see the evening.

“What is it?”

“She’s not answering. She wasn’t well yesterday evening, and- We shouldn’t have left her alone.” The apostate complains, trying to force the knob and pushing at the door, but with no result.

“What’s going on, stop banging, someone’s trying to sleep in.” Varric adds, popping out of his own room. Just what Cassandra needs.

“Urgh.” She grunts, stepping out and placing a hand on Solas’ shoulder, to have him step away and give her room. “Let me.”

“Hey, is everything all right with Lucky?”

“Either she has the deepest sleep of the world, or we’re finding a Demon inside.” Cassandra snorts, shaking her head.

“You don’t think-“

“Get your crossbow.”

She closes her fingers on the hilt on her side, and bracing up hit the door with her shoulder, hard. The door rattles, but doesn’t give way. She repeats the action, putting more strength in it. At the third attempt, the lock breaks and the door swings open, letting the Seeker in as she takes advantage of the momentum to swing her sword inside.

The room, however, is empty, saved for the still full bathtub. Cassandra walks in the room, sheating her sword again and huffing through her nose. The bed is wrinkled but still neatly done, signalling that nobody slept in it. The elf’s few belongings are all there: her staff is propped against the wall beside the bed, her armour tossed haphazardly on the chair in a corner, and below it, without an order, on the little table just there lie the pouches full of medicinal herbs she insists on keeping with her, along a couple of flasks full of healing poultices and lyrium drough. The windows is open, letting the fresh morning air in, but a quick check confirms the jump is too high, and there’s no rope attached anyway. The water in the bathtub is dirty and cold. No signs of fighting, all in all.

“She didn’t spend the night here.”

“She must have gone in the evening, the candles aren’t melted. And I’d say she planned on returning.” Solas added, walking inside as well and looking around.

“We’ll never find her if she slept outside, she could literally be everywhere.” Comes Varric’s contribution, before he turns and steps down the stairs.

“Where are you going, dwarf?” Cassandra barks, not intending of losing another one of her party. One she could manage, two definitely not.

“Relax, Seeker, I’m having breakfast. And asking the hostess if she saw Lucky yesterday.”

They follow him, without any better idea. The common room is empty, so early in the morning, but the hostess is already behind the counter, wiping glasses and tidying up. She greets them all, and before disappearing to get breakfast, she points at a precise corner as Varric asks her about a Dalish elf, blonde and with teal tattoos on her brow and chin. Coming closer, there’s a table tucked in that corner, two benches on each side: and on the bench that’s tucked against the wall, there they find her, in an unlikely company.

Lavellan is tucked against the side of the son of Gereon Alexius, her cheek resting on his shoulder and drooling slightly, mouth open and soundly asleep as the two other mages. Dorian is on the other side, equally resting against his friend in sleep. All three looks perfectly healthy, and by the cups, pitchers and empty bottle, it’s pretty easy to reconstructs what exactly had happened.

Solas snorts, shaking his head and approaching the three, gently shaking Aisling by her shoulder.

“Wake up, da’len, are you fine?”

“Ungh- Five more minutes…” she grumbles, not waking up and instead turning her head to drown further into the shoulder she’s perched into.

“Da’len.” He remarks, severely.

“What?” She finally answers, opening one green eyes and looking at her wake up call with as much reproach ash Solas used to stir her awake.

“You’re sleeping on a Magister’s shoulder.”

“He’s not a Magister, he’s an Altus. And he told me he didn’t mind.”

“Would you please shut up? I’m trying to sleep, here.” Dorian grumbles from his spot, turning to face the wall and draping an arm over his ear and face. Felix just grumbles and shifts, if he’s awake, he seems pretty sure to ignore everyone.

“Herald, we were very worried about you.” Cassandra adds, but all the edge is gone from her voice.

Hearing the Seeker sound not angry but just a little tired, tho, makes Aisling finally open her eyes for more than one second, looking at her for some moments before raising her hand and rubbing her eyes.

“Sorry… I came down for a drink, we started chatting and we fell asleep.” She explains, groggy from sleep, but not oppositive. Which makes Solas huff and raise up, patting her shoulder before stepping away.

“I’m helping Varric with the breakfast, you raise up, it’s not so polite.” He chides, her, going to help the dwarf and the hostess taking a couple of trays of full dishes and cups to the table. Cassandra, meanwhiles, just sits down on the opposite bench, scuddling over to the very end to make room for the others.

The clank of full trays and the movement of cutlery and dishes, as breakfast gets served and the remnant of the evening moved on the tray and taken away, united with the sweet smell of porridge, jam, eggs and bacon, finally stirs the two Tevinters up to wakefulness. Felix yawns, all so polite with a hand coming to cover his mouth and apologising for both the scene and for taking Aisling there without making sure she got back to her room. As Dorian keeps grumbling, he asks if there’s coffee and if it can please not taste like piss as well - Aisling and Felix giggles, the rest just look at them with a question in their eyes that doesn’t get answered.

Varric just keeps on looking at the three in front of them, slowly raising up in pretty much the same level of disarray and messy hair, Aisling and Dorian complaining that the room’s too bright and their head throbs, Felix doing the same because they should have listened and stop drinking before they actually did. He can’t resist but comment.

“This is really some weird shit, you know, Lucky?” Master Tethras, smelling a story, barely can contain his amusement as he sips his tea.

The elf turns to look at him with a shy smile and a glint in her eyes that promises nothing good. And indeed, when she replies, it gets even weirder:

“…Scis quod etiam amentior?” (1) (1) “Do you know what’s weirder?” (or it should be, I was never that good with Latin and I have no intention of studying it better for silly fanfiction I write when I can’t sleep. Feel free to correct me if you actually know Latin and detect mistakes, tho! Tevene is not a 101 correspondence to latin anyway, and Aisling is totally self-taught, hence mistakes are in characters... But I’m curious and I would like to know the correct form. xD Aaaaaand, if you want to read more...)

[quillfulwriter]

Words: 600 | Rating: T

Dorian finds himself a tad jealous of the deep, natural friendship between Varric and Marian Hawke. He misses Felix like mad. The iconic duo notices his struggle and includes him to his fake chagrin.

Kofi commissions are also open, check my profile ☕

[blarrghe]

A character going deathly still when they ask, “Who hurt you?” or “Who did this?” PLS for Dorian and Felix? 🥺

Something something rehashing Dorian's old drama but I can't help myself. Also it fits in my Matchsies timeline. Or in my canon one if you don't think about it too hard. I have a weakness for brotherly interactions. CW for blood and gay angst.

--

"Hey, Pavus, aren't you packed yet?" Felix bounded through the door to Dorian's guest room at the estate with a crash, practically bouncing up and down with his enthusiasm. 

Dorian scrambled, tossing a blanket over the open book on the bed, clutching a hand over his arm with a wince, and knocking over an entire jar of spindly little dried leaves. 

"Maker, don't you knock?" 

Felix stopped in his bouncing to squint and sniff about the air, looking like some sort of overcurious hound. 

"What are you doing?" 

"What does it look like?" Dorian attempted to make the hand cover over his bicep look natural, shrugging up his shoulders to stubbornly cross his arms. 

"Magic?" 

"And now I have to start over," Dorian complained, "so, shoo." 

Felix angled his squint towards Dorian. "I could help." 

"No, you couldn't." 

"Sure I could, just let me see —" 

"—you've already gone and gotten the spindleweed everywhere — Felix, hey!" 

Felix darted for the bed, reaching for the spellbook Dorian had tossed under the blanket. Then he was falling into him with a laughing shove, wrestling it out of his hands while Dorian attempted to elbow him away and still keep his arm contained by his own hand. Felix pushed and tugged, and it was let go of his arm or let go of the book, and either way he'd be revealed. 

Felix's elbow connected with Dorian's rib, his hand clasped over the book and tugged it from Dorian's arms, Dorian's hand slipped, and then he just grabbed. The blood on his fingers smeared onto Felix's knuckles and the edge of a page. Felix stopped. He brought his bloodied hand to his face and scooted back to stand from the bed in an instant. 

His eyes drifted from the slight smear of blood on his hand to the larger stain across Dorian's arm, where it leaked from several long, straight cuts spread diagonal across the width of his bicep. Then his eyes were on Dorian's face, wide and afraid. "Are you fucking kidding me?" 

Dorian avoided his eyes, glancing away to take up the wrappings of a bandage which he'd undone before the start of his spell, carefully pulling it up and tightly around the bleeding cuts. 

"Father's going to kill you." 

"Don't tell him." 

"Don't tell him?" 

Dorian didn't look up, but he could feel Felix's wide eyes still boring holes into his skull. 

"You're doing blood magic in our house, Pavus." 

Dorian had irritated the younger Alexius plenty of times. He was prone to teasing him about his lack of fashion sense, and to chasing him about the house wrestling after stolen papers. They sometimes bickered about music, or about Felix’s disrespect for Dorian’s privacy, and about how long he took in the mornings grooming his hair. He’d never heard him like this, hushed and hissing and angry. 

“I’m not.” 

“Because I stopped you —”

“ — I’m not doing blood magic,” Dorian hissed back, whispering in a pointed way to urge Felix’s voice back down. 

“Then what in the Maker’s name do you call all this?” Felix gestured at the book, the spilled spindleweed, the bright red drops of blood. 

“Healing magic.” 

“Healing — but you - you cut your - Dorian, why do you have those-those cuts up your arm?” Felix had hushed, as intended. He’d lost the hiss and the scowl of anger too. His eyes only wide and afraid, his voice stuttered as he looked back at the bandage, now seeping through with red. 

“I didn’t cut my arm.”

Felix shook his head, his expression still one of confusion and fear and, though he had quieted down about it, obvious disbelief. 

"I have eyes, Pavus." 

"I didn't."

"Then who?" Felix crossed his own arms, chin jutting out indignantly at the otherwise empty room. 

“They — I —” Dorian sighed, and pressed his hand into the bandaged arm with a tight squeeze. “It was blood magic,” he explained, “and that’s why it won’t stay healed, but it wasn’t —” Felix’s eyes were growing wide again “— it wasn’t here, and it wasn't me.”

“Then who?” Felix asked again, this time a new sort of angry, and whisper quiet. 

Dorian swallowed. “Who do you think?” 

Felix’s brows furrowed in. “I don’t…” 

Maker, he’d really have to say it. “My father. Before I came here. There was a ritual. I fought — I - I don’t remember — but I don’t think it was completed because —” because it hadn’t worked “ — because it still won’t heal.”

“But… you’ve been here for months.” 

Dorian grimaced. That was, indeed, the issue that vexed him. “They’ll stay shut a month or two and then…” 

“Why?”

“I don’t bloody know! I’ve tried every healing spell I can think of, tried ointments, poultices—”

“No, I mean… why would, why would your father use — what did… what did he do to you?” 

“I told you, I can’t remember all of it.”

“Pavus.” 

“Because he’s a self-obsessed, power hungry, controlling —”

“— Dorian.”

“To fucking fix me!” 

Felix frowned, standing over where Dorian sat on the bed, stock still and staring. 

“To make me — I don’t know, acceptable! To banish the corruption from my mind and make me want the right things and think the right thoughts and - and tolerate all their mundane plans for me so that I’d marry and have children and quit running off in the night looking for the kind of company I suppose I oughtn’t.” He couldn’t seem to stop his own ranting, now it had started. And Felix couldn’t seem to close his damn mouth. “Except it didn’t work, I fought it off or he fucked it up or — or perhaps it can’t be done and that’s just the curse of it but —” 

“But lots of people like men.” 

How was it that he could just say that? How was it that he could throw that tidbit out into the air like simple facts of life while Dorian couldn’t even make his own mouth form the sounds. While he couldn’t even get one simple phrase out the one time it had mattered.  

“Plenty of archons had court slaves who were men, they tell us about it in school. There was Mae, before, or — maybe that’s different — but —” 

"You think they wouldn't try the same on Mae, given half a chance?" Dorian interrupted, "and they beheaded plenty of archons for less." 

"Even father, when he's had enough to drink, I'm pretty sure —" 

"But he doesn't love them, does he?" 

"Dorian…" Felix opened his mouth again, but this time he figured out how to close it. 

"And he doesn't tell his politically ambitious parents that he has no plans to marry or to - or to keep it a secret, or to stop." 

"Maker," Felix sighed. For a long moment, he was too quiet. Grimacing and staring at him and thinking, his mind obviously spinning through the information in that mathematician's way he had. “Well, what if we finish it?” 

“What?” 

“The ritual.” 

“What?” 

“Oh, not like that, I mean - I mean there’s ending words, aren’t there? To any ritual, always. What if we just… bandage you up and say them?” 

“Say them,” Dorian echoed, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, just 'finis rituali viva Andraste et ceterendum' or whatever,” Felix said with a shrug. 

“Vivat,” Dorian corrected, “and 'et ceterendum'? Really?” 

“Or whatever!” 

“Do you pay any attention to your classes whatsoever? Why in the world would that work?”

Felix shrugged again. “Have you ever tried it?” 

Dorian sighed. He glanced at the book Felix had dropped at the corner of the bed when he’d jumped up, open now to the page of some other, entirely unrelated ritual. They did all end the same way. “No,” he admitted. 

“So we open the circle, then just close it. Easy. I’ll help, just tell me what to say.” 

“It was a blood circle.” 

“You’re already bleeding.” 

“Right.” Dorian lifted his hand from the bandage he’d been holding pressed against his arm, where it stung moist and warm and seeping through in red. “Well, it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” 

He stood. With Felix’s help Dorian pushed the bed against the wall and rolled up the carpet that sat beneath it. He carefully drew a few deeply forbidden runes on the floor in his own blood. He sat cross-legged in the centre and wrote for Felix a fool-proof transliterated version of the usual words. 

“If this makes me interested in girls I’ll have you know I’m going straight for that Orlesian diplomat’s daughter you like — what’s her name? Aimée?”

Felix released a short burst of laughter through his nose. “Like you could land Amélie with that mug of yours.” 

“Excuse you? I have a very handsome face. This jawline could cut glass.” 

“That why you spend three hours every day curling that distraction of a moustache?” 

“You’re just jealous that you can’t grow your own.”

Felix rolled up his page of ritual words and swatted Dorian with it. “Alright, alright, shut up. Ready?” 

“Sure. Why not?” What could possibly go wrong? Well, he'd beaten it once.  

He closed his eyes. Felix chanted some opening words, and then some closing ones. There was a rattling of the floorboards, a gust of cold air through the room despite the closed windows, and then a cool tingling up his arm, and silence. Dorian opened his eyes, and the wounds were shut. 

“So? Amélie?” Felix asked, eyes wide again, this time hopeful.

Dorian shrugged. “All yours.” 

Sitting across from him on the hard floor, Felix grinned. He hopped up to his feet, and Dorian quickly set to work helping to scrub the evidence off the floor. They moved the bed and the carpet back into place. Dorian poked and squinted at his arm. The skin was scarred, but solidly sealed and no longer stinging. Finally, Felix carefully swept up the spilled spindleweed from the bed into a cupped hand and poured it carefully back into its small glass jar. 

“Felix?” Dorian breathed, standing back from the bed, still looking dumbfounded at his own arm.

“Mhm?” 

“Thank you.” 

Felix turned, punched him very lightly in his newly healed bicep, and then pulled him into a fast, sure embrace.

“Of course, Pavus,” he said over his shoulder. “And for the record, there’s nothing wrong with you.” He released him, and then grimaced up at the poster on the wall beside the door of a particularly moody musician Dorian had recently become fond of. “‘Cept your fucking taste, Maker.” 

[liza011]

Happy Friday! Would love to see ‘ Stay in bed, please. ’ from the Caring Prompt list for Dorian/Felix Alexius!

20. "Stay in bed, please." (Dorian/Felix Alexius)

Rating: M

Content Warning: smut.

For @dadrunkwriting.

@nirikeehan Thank you for the prompt. That was fun!

_

Dorian woke to find Felix still next to him in bed, asleep.

He smiled at the sight. He looked peaceful, like he had finally slept well after a long time of restlessness. He reached out, gently running a hand over Felix's hair.

Felix stirred, not as deeply asleep as Dorian had thought he had been. "Dorian?" Felix asked, voice quiet and warm.

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you're here."

"I-" He was taken aback for a split second. He hadn't expected it. What he had expected, was Felix joking about the situation they now found themselves in. "Thank you." The next words were harder to speak aloud than he wished they were. "I'm glad you're here too."

Felix opened his eyes and smiled at him. "It's nice to wake up to you touching me like this."

He almost pulled his hand away out of instinct. "I admit, this morning feels a lot less awkward than I had anticipated."

"You thought I'd leave?"

"I did. You satisfied your curiosity and that's all I thought it was."

"It's not. I wouldn't have agreed to sleep with you if it had only been that." Felix touched Dorian's arm.

"You don't regret it?"

"No. Do you?"

Dorian shook his head. "I don't. I might have if you'd hated it. I care for you a great deal." He paused. "Would you like breakfast?"

"Are you changing the subject?" Felix grinned.

"I am not. I'm just concerned you may be hungry."

"No. Breakfast can wait. For now, stay in bed, please." He propped himself up on his elbows and leaned over Dorian. "Can I kiss you again?"

Dorian reached up, placed his hand at the back of Felix's neck and carefully pulled him closer. "Yes."

He did, and Dorian felt his whole body fill with warmth.

"Can I touch you again?" Felix breathed into his mouth.

"Yes."

Felix ran his hands along Dorian's neck, down his stomach until he had reached his cock. 

He stilled, looked to Dorian for confirmation.

Dorian nodded and Felix stroked him with two fingers, light and teasing, and Dorian felt the heat build up, he quickly got hard. Then Felix was placing kisses where he'd run his hands moments before.

Dorian's sighed when Felix circled his tip with his tongue before closing his mouth around him and moving down, then up again his entire length.

It drew a moan from him. "It feels so good."

Felix chuckled, his mouth still around him and the slight vibration sent a shiver through Dorian. When Felix began stoking his balls with his free hand, and he flicked his tongue over his tip once again, Dorian's hips bucked. A few drops of cum trickled out and Felix pulled back, spread it and massaged only his head with his hand, lightly squeezing, rubbing, while watching Dorian curl his fingers into the bedsheets. His lips were parted and his breaths starting to get heavier.

Felix kissed him again, his hand kept working Dorian's cock while his tongue pushed into his mouth again.

Dorian groaned, uttered a spell as Felix's hand closed around him fully, making it slick. Felix stroked him faster, increased the pressure on his downwards movement and firmly rubbed his tip when he went back up again.

Felix broke off the kiss, smiling as Dorian's moans and groans grew in volume as he got closer to release.

He came hard, spilling into Felix's hand before collapsing with a pleased sigh. "That was lovely." He cleaned Felix up with another spell. "Thank you."

Felix caressed his cheek. "Are you happy?"

"I am." Dorian kissed him again and felt Felix's throbbing erection against him as he pulled him into a hug. "Now let me take care of you. You're already as hard as a rock, just pleasuring me."

Felix chuckled. "I would like that."

[theluckywizard]

WIP Whenever

Thank you for the tag @rowanisawriter! <3

While my longfic is still eating up most of my writing time, I have started working on my Nightmare!AU where Rose Trevelyan and Dorian never return from 9:43 at the end of In Hushed Whispers, Leliana having shattered the amulet with an arrow when she put one in Alexius in a rage. The fic alternates between Rose's POV and Hawke's POV, who, in spite of the prevailing belief that Rose died a year ago, believes she'll return and has been hanging near her last known location waiting. Everyone think he's fuckin nuts. This is my third chapterlet in Hawke's POV.

Hawke draws nearer to Redcliffe Castle, near enough to see the bend of the veil around the keep, to hear the shriek of the terrors and despair demons, to feel the change in the air— liquid thick, the cloy of red lyrium heavy for the middle of the lake. Prickles skitter up and down him and he curses softly. He’s almost never uneasy, even in this blazing nightmare. Nudging aside the trepidation like a minor annoyance, he remembers what he can of the dream and he rows. A prisoner inside an impossible deep, Hawke sat unshackled but unmoving, beyond despair because despair would be something. The emptiness stretched infinitely in every direction inward and outward. He belonged to it and it belonged to him. A flicker of green captures his attention above him, a glimmer of light that filters through the depths casting a shadow as a figure approaches. Curiosity occupies the void first followed by radiance, like the whole of his insides is becoming a star. Hawke nearly stands in the dinghy when he looks over his shoulder and sees it, the craft wobbling so wildly halfway to his feet that he sits again before tipping into the water. A flicker of green strikes the tips of the waves accompanied by some distant splashing, a shadow of a half scuttled craft somewhere beyond. He can’t call out as Calenhad tended to amplify and multiply even the smallest sounds. Utterly gripped by the prospect, a neglected oar slides into the water. Fuck. He reaches a long arm into the water and fishes it back out, slipping it back into the oarlock and recenters his mind. It has to be her. So he rows, his hope pulsing along to the rhythm of his heart, calling him on. He could never restrain it even if he had a mind to, feeling it hurtle to the fore like a starved beast. The castle. The Elder One. The dream. The spark of green like a marked hand. The marked hand Varric had told him all about in his letters, each of them thick with adulation and hope. All the pieces are there, he just needs to ignore the fire in his upper back muscles and row. He’s drifting in off his last powerful pull, desperate bleats for help coming from two bedraggled men who don’t seem to understand how to stay afloat properly. Without hesitating, as if that marked hand promised safety, Hawke extends an oar to them, noting the staff one clings to. He feels his heart knocking against his ribs even as he sets to work assisting. The bearer of the mark passes one of the men closer to the oar, an apparently competent swimmer though she’s breathless from her exertions. Hawke lifts the men in, the dinghy listing sharply as he hauls them over the edge and they tumble into a sopping heap before reorganizing themselves, thanking the Maker, cursing in old Tevene, shivering and quaking some warmth back into their bones. She clings to the side of the boat catching her breath and then countered by the weight of the three men, heaves herself into a similar sprawl across the benches and coiled line. Slumped back against the bench opposite him she regards him tiredly, swiping away the wet strands of hair that cling to her face. “Maker you’re a beautiful sight,” she gasps and he suspects she’s only just now allowing herself to be exhausted. Likewise, he thinks, disbelief knocking away nearly all of his wits and every last one of his words as he sits before the Herald of Andraste, long presumed dead. Of course he’s always believed he was right, but being proven so is something else entirely. “Not to be rude, but could you perhaps get us out of here?” And he can’t help the radiance that swells in his chest.

Tagging @plisuu, @breninarthur, @skyeventide, @barbex, @nirikeehan, @monsterthalia, @monocytogenes, @warpedlegacywrites, @about2dance to share their stuff if they so desire!

[trashwarden]

happy father's day to my fav fictional dads! I forgot I drew this last year

[midnightprelude]

Major Arcana: Tower

Written by @oftachancer and I for the @30daysofdorian event!

Masterpost | First | Previous | Next

CW: Blight sickness; conversion therapy (aftermath); successful blood magic ritual; recovering from trauma

Dorian nudged the door to Felix’s chambers open with his hip, holding the heavy tray of foul-smelling tea out in front of him. The room was scorching, even hotter than the Tevinter summer sun beating down on Asariel, to try and ward off the chill that threatened to consume the heir to House Alexius.

“Felix, your father sent me up with your afternoon tea,” Dorian called, already starting to sweat. “I nicked a few of those cinnamon cookies from the kitchen to go with it.”

He was pale and thin, shivering in the baking space, rocking in a nest of blankets and multi-layered robes. Felix lifted his gaze miserably. “The healer said no sugar.” The once dulcet tones had turned to sand in his throat. He held his hand out. “Nevermind. I can’t possibly get worse. Thank you.” He ran his hand through sweat-damp hair and came away with a few dark strands caught in his fingers. He winced and brushed them off hurriedly. “Not long, I think.” He said that every day now. “I was thinking- maybe instead of a choir, just a collection of the loudest drums you can muster? A cacophony. It would be fun to go out in a cacophony.”

“Yes?” Gereon hated to hear him talk like this. He’d grow sullen for days, not saying more than a few syllables to Dorian at a time. Felix had been planning his funeral for nearly two years.

“Rilienus says they play drums at all the funerals in Rivain. Some of them are as big as a house, he says.”

Rilienus. Rilienus Maecilia. An heir in his own right, studying in Rivain. Why did that-

“We could go there, if you like,” Dorian offered, even though it’d involve travel by sea, which neither of them particularly fancied. “Would you? It’s warmer, I’ve heard. Sweltering, even. We could meet his mentor.”

Why would they? What business did they have with anyone else when Felix was wasting away?

“No,” Felix shook his head, wincing as he swallowed down a gulp of steaming tea. “No. I want to stay here, where I know I’ll be able to see the Nocen. I wouldn’t mind hearing some more of Rilienus’ stories, though. Do you think he’d eschew his harp for a set of drums for me?”

Sound like liquid starlight, eyes closed in concentration. He could almost hear a melody on the wind, if he strained.

“I think he would, with some cajoling,” Dorian murmured, lowering down to sit at Felix’s bedside. “Your father thinks we’re getting closer,” he admitted softly. “I’ve my doubts.”

“He needs to think that.” Felix frowned, looking down. “Can you ask Rilienus to come back? I’d like to see him before… And I think Father will need the support. You shouldn’t have to shoulder it alone.”

Alone. When had he been anything but alone? There was a buzzing between his ears, the tightness in his stomach returning.

“I’ll ask,” Dorian said with a slight smile, patting Felix’s slender leg gingerly. “I know you appreciate his company, especially when we’re working.”

Felix nibbled on the cookie, leaning back against his pillow. “I wanted to be your best man. I was looking forward to it. Maybe you can get Maevaris to read my speech for me?” 

“My-“ His voice faded, replaced by a crashing dissonance. Dorian clutched his ears, keeling over onto his knees, screaming as the sound threatened to tear him apart. The walls quaked, dust filling the air and his lungs as they crumbled. “Don’t make me go!” He shouted into the void, the floor falling out from under him, tears carving rivers through the dirt that collected on his cheeks. “Felix, don’t-“

Strong, steady arms wrapped around him, holding him tight. The man they belonged to smelled of ink and parchment, of nights reading by firelight and mornings lazing in the sun. Dorian could hear the plucking of strings faintly in the distance, ethereal and full of sorrow.

“Rilienus,” Dorian whispered, without withdrawing. He didn’t need to. He knew that scent, the feel of those hands, as well as he knew his own name. “Rilienus, where- What is happening to me?”

“We’re getting there, Dorian.” His breath was warm against the back of Dorian’s ear. “I hadn’t even thought of Felix. That’s new. New is good.” 

“I don’t know what’s going on.” Dorian leaned against him, relying on his strength. “Why is everything so muddled?”

“…I’m not sure. I have theories. You have walls as steep as the southern Steppes around that. But I can tell you this: you’ve been lost and this is the first you’re hearing me, hearing my name, in a long time. We’re going to find out together, love.”

Love. His love. Words as solid as marble, truth etched in stone. Dorian felt as though he might crumble in Rilienus’ arms. “We were- Felix said he meant to be my best man.” He pressed his cheek to Rilienus’ shoulder. “We meant to marry. Did we not?”

“Two months ago. You were missing. I found you.” Rilienus said each sentence slowly, holding him, invisible while Felix laughed and smiled and planned his funeral silently in a fading room. “I will find you again. I always will. Do you believe me?”

“I don’t know what to believe,” Dorian said the word in an aching gasp, clinging to Rilienus as though he were the last rope mooring him to reality. “I believe you, though. I don’t- I don’t entirely remember why I do, but I do. I’m- you must hate me for forgetting.”

“No. I hate this spell. You’ve always been quicker at taking apart these kinds of things than I am.” His words were a tumble, his heartbeat ricocheted against Dorian’s back. “I have missed you, my dawn light.”

“…months, you said?” Dorian whispered, afraid of the answer. “Where- My memories. What’s- A spell?”

“A very thorough spell. Rishiri Arcana style. It’s… heavy. And complicated. A labyrinth with a lot of doors. We’ve been through several of the same ones, but you’re starting to find your way. I tried pressing through the walls, but you started screaming-“ He took a slow breath as his voice thickened. “It’s your mind. Your precious mind. Your wondrous heart. I can’t take risks with either.”

“Rishiri Arcana…” Dorian closed his eyes, searching- “Blood magic? On my mind. To change my memories. To- What end could that possibly serve?” 

“I could tell you what I think,” Rilienus murmured. “But you’re having enough trouble with what you know.”

A horrible thought occurred to him and he cupped Rilienus’ cheeks. “Will I forget you again?”

“It’s alright if you do. I’ll be here when you remember.” Hands covered his own and he could see bright green again, soft and warm and loving him. “He’s here, you know. With my mother. Bald, but it suits him. He’s here.”

“Felix?” Dorian murmured, holding his face as though it were the most precious thing in the world. It was, he knew, the knowledge from somewhere deep and slumbering. “He’s alive? Can I see him?”

Rilienus hesitated, thumbing his cheek. “When you come back, yes.” 

“My memories,” Dorian said softly. This wasn’t real. Or it had been, once. “Right. Can you guide me towards one I’ve forgotten?”

Rilienus nodded slowly. “I wasn’t there. But I’ll be with you, even if you don’t see me. Maybe it will guide you towards something I don’t know about.” He kissed his cheek gently. “You’re ready?”

[drawingsphopho]

Daemon Age: Inquisition

Dorian’s Loved Ones

Gereon Alexius & Pteriidum - Emperor penguin (Aptenodytes forsteri) Like Alexius, emperor penguins go to extreme lengths for their children, of which each season they only have one. If they lose their child, they will even steal one from another penguin. Penguins care deeply for others (see Alexius wanting to fight corruption in Tevinter), but the love for their child trumps all. After the magister’s run with the Venatori, Pteriidum manifests Gereon’s deteriorating mental health as catastrophic molt.

Felix & Melzar - Yellow-winged bat (Lavia frons) Bats are symbols of vigilance, and Felix will dutifully watch his father in order to help him and others. Bats are also known as holders of disease, similar to how Felix suffers from the Blight. Yellow-winged bats are social animals and will search for their fellows if they are lost. They are also especially vigilant; during the day, one of a mated pair will stay awake to guard their territory. And they’re yellow.

Halward Pavus & Aplites - Largemouth bass (Micropterus salmoides) A bass is no trogon or felid, but it is a carnivore, and its mouth is full of teeth. It will eat anything in its path, and will not change course in its ascension. While not feared, it is formidable. Aplites is kept wet by enchanted jewelry and “swims” through the air in a bubble of water following her other half. Halward and Aplites had great things planned for their son, but if it takes too long for the fry to leave, the parent bass will not hesitate to eat them.

[j-nightingalesb1tch]

Welcome to Tumblr! Requesting happy moments between Felix and Dorian, if that tickles your fancy!

haha i'm not new to tumblr in the slightest, i've been here for years, but thank you!

there will be plenty of happy dorian/felix moments in my au, but i think i have a oneshot in mind... look out for a 5 v 1 on my ao3 account :)

[enderevynne]

I paused at the best moments omg [Part 2] [Part 1]