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Birthrights	By : Rikkila13 Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 1891 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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Chapter 1
                Fitzwilliam Trevelyan walked the familiar path to the library keep. The stone stairs were worn, cold even through his heavy leather boots, but the light was warm as he stepped through the archway and into the room proper.
                He glanced about quickly, scanning the room for the tell-tale glint of fire off the diamond-shaped adornments of Dorian’s favored coat. He pretended that wasn’t why he was there, as he always did. Often he came for legitimate reasons -- to drop off field research, to continue upward to speak with Leliana. But always he scanned the room for him. He wondered for a moment when that had begun but soon shook his head to clear it.
                Dorian was not in the room as far as he could see. The Inquisitor’s heart sank a little with that. Naturally, the mage might be anywhere. His quarters, the tavern, visiting other friends. He tried not to think about that last one. However, Dorian’s favorite chair was not visible from the current vantage point. There remained, yet, a chance it might be occupied. A chance that Fitzwilliam might lift his spirts after all.
                He did his best to appear as if he were merely taking a stroll, but when he rounded the corner… well, when he rounded the round (bloody room!), he could not help peering. He expected to see him there, leg crossed atop his knee, book in one hand, wine in another, perhaps an amused smirk across his face that made his eyes crinkle at the edges just so… but what he found was an empty chair, illuminated by the flickering of the fire. His heart sank, and he slumped against the railing, staring forlornly at the alcove.
                The fire was still bright, doing a fine job keeping the dark and chill of the night at bay. The room was empty, in fact, except for the tranquil mage across the way. She seemed absorbed in her work. The fire really was roaring, he had likely just missed the very scene he was picturing. Perhaps he might be able to go ask the tranquil… but no. What would he do anyway? Track the mage to his rooms? That would certainly attract attention. He didn’t even know what he would say.
                “Deep in thought, I see.” Fitzwilliam jumped at the familiar drawl and felt his face flush as Dorian laughed boisterously. Everything the man did was boisterous. “And what was it you were considering, I wonder?” The mage made his way around Fitzwilliam and placed an old scroll on the table. “Formulating plans to stop the next great disaster, I imagine.” Fitzwilliam said nothing. He could think of nothing. Nothing but the glint of light on Dorian’s coat and exposed skin. The smell of him as he walked by, olive oil and citrus and spice. The joy of knowing he was there after all.
“Inquisitor?” the voice echoed around him in a dreamy way. The room was quite warm. The wine he’d had before he came up the spiral stair sloshed in his stomach. He smiled, dazedly. “Are you okay?” The words buzzed. His head was fuzzy. A hand grabbed his arm. “Fitz!”
The inquisitor blinked. And blinked again. His eyes met the sweet grey-blue of Dorian’s. They looked… off, concerned. Fitzwilliam smiled. His hand reached up and brushed his fingertips across the stubbled jaw before him. The eyes widened. His arm fell away. “You’ve never called me that before,” he heard himself say.
Dorian smiled, but the concern was still there. “Are you okay, your worship?” The words sounded so playful when he said them. As if the mage were merely a child playing with formalities. Fitzwilliam nodded silently, his eyes going to the warm spot on his arm where Dorian still grasped him. “You look pale, Inquisitor.” Fitzwilliam shrugged. “Have you eaten? It’s well past the dinner bell.”
The Herald shook his head. “Had wine,” he heard himself say.
“Lord, Fitz, is that what this is about? You’re sodden?” The words came out in an amused, but hushed voice.
“You said it again,” he giggled. The mage rolled his eyes.
“What? Your name? Yes, I know your name. Truly, I am a scholar for the ages!” He grasped the Inquisitor firmly by his upper arm and led him to the alcove. He turned him, and sat him in the chair. “Stay,” he said and for a moment Fitzwilliam thought he might receive a pat on the head. But Dorian merely walked away. The Herald of Andraste made a sound that was most certainly not a whimper. He didn’t want Dorian to walk away.
“Eat,” the voice said, and Fitzwilliam opened his eyes to see Dorian standing above him, with a tray of bread and cheese. How long had the man been gone? And how did Fitzwilliam end up curled up on the floor next to the fire? When the scent of the cheese hit his nose it no longer mattered. He was ravenous. How had he not known? Dorian sat on the floor beside him while the other man ate. After the eating slowed from “shoveling” to “pushing” Dorian spoke again. “Maker above, man, how much did you drink?”
The Inquisitor shrugged. In truth it had been one glass of quite strong mulled wine. But there was no way Dorian could know… “Andraste’s tit! It was a single glass wasn’t it? The Herald is a light-weight!” Fitzwilliam sputtered and coughed on his food… in the most dignified way.
“How did you… I mean… No, I…” Fitzwilliam attempted. Dorian laughed. Then he fell onto his back and laughed more.
“I bribed the servants. But your face,” he continued to laugh, barely squeaking out “priceless” before needing to gulp for air.
“It was quite strong, I hadn’t eaten, and I drank it all in one go…” He tried to reason.
Dorian sat up and wiped his eyes. When he looked at Fitzwilliam with delight and amusement, and something … more the Inquisitor was rendered breathless.
“So what were you doing here, drunk, anyway?” The mage poked the bread and cheese about but did not eat any.
“Oh, uh… walking.” The last word went up a bit at the end, prompting Dorian.
“Is that a question?” His voice was full of amusement, but he still wasn’t looking up.
“No, I was… I just went for a walk and I found myself here.” Fitzwilliam looked to the tray to hide his blush.
“Oh. So not looking for me then?” Dorian’s words were easy but there was something in his voice. Disappointment?
No, not specifically. The words bounced in his head but Fitzwilliam could not say them. It was an outright lie. Perhaps he sometimes bent his words but he preferred not to lie. And to lie to Dorian… He’d taken too long to answer, Dorian looked up, and Fitzwilliam’s gaze followed as if pulled by and unseen force – current, wind, polarity. Dorian studied him, waiting for an answer, he imagined.
“Were you?” Dorian asked.
Fitzwilliam sat silently. He had come to see Dorian. Even had a handy excuse. The letter crinkled in his pocket. But did he say that, or admit the farce? Finally he nodded.
“A new threat to beat, I assume? Needed your best man?” The cocky smile was there, but there was something behind the eyes. If only Fitzwilliam’s head wasn’t so clouded by the wine. Perhaps then he could see. Fitzwilliam shook his head.
“Then what, your grace?”
Wordlessly, like the coward he was, Fitzwilliam pulled the letter from inside his vest pocket and handed it over. A letter from Magister Pavus. Dorian read it silently.
“Fuck. Him.” Dorian said in a low, voice full of dangerous calm. He crumpled the paper and tossed it to the fire. “’I know my son’? What my father knows of me could fill a thimble!”
“You don’t want to…” Fitzwilliam began his question, but Dorian cut him off.
“No.” He looked away. Anger and sadness and… shame colored his actions and words.
“Whatever happened, Dorian… I know you left home but…”
“But what?” The mage snapped and looked at the Inquisitor with steely eyes.
“But your father has gone to an awful lot of trouble. Don’t you think…” Again he was cut off.
“What? That he deserves to see me? I owe him that? He’s worth it?” Dorian stood up angrily and turned his back on him.
Fitzwilliam stood. “No, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean he was worth it, Dorian,” but the man could not let him finish a sentence.
Dorian turned around angrily, coming close, stepping over the tray. Fitzwilliam took a step back, but the man was still close as sin. “No? He’s not worth it? Then why?”
Fitzwilliam looked into the storm in those eyes, readied himself. He had battled archdemons. He could best Dorian Pavus’s stubborn streak. He put his hand on the mage’s bare arm, grasping it gently. “I meant you are worth it, Doe.”
The tempest left Dorian’s eyes.
VVV
Dorian’s brain was having trouble processing everything. He hadn’t heard from his father in years. Fitzwilliam just dumped this on him and the rage had come on fast and hot. But what Fitz had said, the touch on his arm, the pleading in his eyes… What was the man thinking?
“Okay, I’ll… I meet the retainer,” Dorian sighed.
Fitzwilliam smiled. Maker, it was almost worth it just to see that smile directed at him. The softness of it. The crinkle at the corner of his brilliant blue eyes. There was no denying Dorian was attracted to the man. But that smile. That was more. That was… terrifying. Maker above, that? That Dorian had to deny. Or lose himself.
“Tomorrow. We’ll go tomorrow,” was all Dorian said.
“And what shall we do tonight?” Fitzwilliam asked. They were still close, the Inquisitor’s hand still on him. The man had begun moving his thumb back and forth, caressing his bicep absentmindedly. The answer was on Dorian’s lips. But he was too cowardly. He went with levity instead.
“I hear there’s an archdemon to kill, perhaps we could pop that off before bed? Or a maybe just a dragon or two?” He smirked, Fitzwilliam laughed.
They fell back to the floor, talking of this and that, until the 12^th bell chimed, and Dorian shuffled the Herald of Andraste off to bed. At the door to his chambers Fitzwilliam turned to face him. The lightness and easy laughter had vanished.
“Promise me you won’t stay up fretting all night,” he said.
“Hardly any night at all left, your grace,” Dorian smirked. Humor, always a good defense.
The inquisitor scowled. “Must I make it an order?” He said, somewhat unconvincingly.
“No,” Dorian sighed, still smiling softly, “I suppose you don’t.”
“There’s nothing to worry about, Dorian,” Fitzwilliam said, turning and opening his door. “No matter what happens I’ll be with you. We go together. Goodnight.”
The door closed. Dorian stared at it for a long moment, then turned and walked away. “But will we come back together?” He wondered aloud and shuffled to bed.
AN: And that's ch 1! Please, please, please comment and let me know what you think, any theories you come up with, or anything else. I love hearing from readers! Thanks for reading! <3
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Birthrights