"The problem," he said at length, haltingly, as though it pained him to admit it, "Is not that I feel differently. It's that I feel the same."
WHAT: A truth plot reveals more than either of them bargained for. WHERE: The Crossed Quills, stables. WHEN: Tuesday, March 3. WARNINGS: Some mentions of PTSD. STATUS:Complete!
Nothing good came of honesty.
Okay, perhaps that was too harsh a view of things, but he felt he was entitled after everything that had happened. Between his rather forthright assessment of Tevinter after Anders elected to be an unmitigated ass with his questions that weren’t quite questions, his admission that he had no expectation of surviving his efforts to reform Tevinter, and the fact that he had slipped in a way that made it all too apparent how he felt about Fenris, he felt rather burned by the whole situation.
Perhaps he should have just stayed in his apartment and avoided his phone. Tish would be out and he could be alone. He wouldn’t have to deal with any of these complicated emotions.
But he couldn’t leave things like that between himself and Fenris. Not after saying what he had. Amatus. It was a weighted word, heavy with so much meaning. And Fenris would know. Of course he would. He spoke Tevene, and their letters had largely been in the language. He could not miss the meaning of the word.
And so Dorian had to go see him. Before everything between them could be ruined by his misstep.
He found himself at the Crossed Quills, where he was directed to the stables. It made sense. He knew Fenris preferred animals to people, especially at a time like this when he would not wish to speak to anyone. Dorian was loath to intrude upon his solitude, but he could not leave things as they were.
“Fenris,” he said, hesitating in the doorway of the stables. “May I speak with you, please?”
Fenris' hands were shaking. It made tending to the horses difficult, but the task still brought some comfort to him, and he so desperately needed that right now. His thoughts were swirling like a storm, filled with the awful truths he'd spoken that would almost certainly unravel everything he'd been so terrified of losing. Hawke's trust. Hawke's companionship. Hawke's friends, who were just as much family to the elf as she was. He thought of what Anders said, too, and his easy dismissal of Fenris' vulnerability, of talking to Justice. It forced so many memories to the surface, and it didn't help that his conversation with the Inquisitor triggered more. And then—and then—Dorian had to address him using a word Fenris never dared to think anyone would feel inspired to use for him. That it was in Tevene made it all the more charged, a language he'd worked so hard to claim as his own when it was not given to him freely. But Dorian gave all so easily, and he yearned with everything in him to give back.
It couldn't be the truth, though. It couldn't.
So he focused on what he always did when emotions overwhelmed him: retreat and brooding. Fenris was already part of the way there, considering he hadn't settled in Vallo City with the others. He remained in a little village along the Forest, mostly with the horses outside the Crossed Quills, who he knew wouldn't ask questions or force further truths from him. All they wanted were treats and attention, and although Fenris was still badly shaken, he could provide that for them. He could do something right.
He froze at the sound of Dorian's voice outside, heart in his throat. But of course, despite the fact that he didn't want to answer, and certainly not truthfully, the mage had asked a question, and he was compelled to reply. "Yes," Fenris said in a low rumble, hoping Dorian might not hear. The mare behind him nudged his shoulder, and he turned to continue brushing her, grateful his hands were needed for something. Otherwise he might reach for Dorian, and that was a very bad idea.
Dorian lingered there in the doorway for a long moment, trying to find the right words to express all he wanted to say to Fenris. The situation between them was delicate and he did not wish to lose Fenris’s friendship because he had made his feelings too apparent.
I ask that you stop talking to me before I say something we will almost certainly regret.
He could only imagine what it was that Fenris had been on the verge of saying. For all that they had flirted with one another, and there had definitely been flirting, there was no possible way that Fenris could return his regard. He wasn’t the sort of person people could come to love. He knew that well enough. Life had shown him that much.
And yet.
“I wanted to apologize,” he said. “What I said…that was inappropriate. I should not have forced you to deal with that. Whatever my feelings might be, it still wasn’t right of me to just say that. I know that you couldn’t possibly feel the same way and that is fine. You are under no obligation to return my affections. I swear I never planned to even make you aware but this blasted honesty…” He took a deep breath. “The point is that I am deeply sorry and I dearly hope that I have not lost your friendship.”
Fenris heard nothing but the beating of his own heart, loud in the silence of the stables, while Dorian stood there without saying anything. He hadn't expected that. He'd expected—well, something far more stumbling, an apology and an explanation and words, words, words, all of them empty, all of them tangled and rooted inside his chest. But none of it came. So, eventually, Fenris found the courage to glance at the mage with a half-wary, half-curious look, reaching up to scratch under the mare's chin while he waited. Outside, a roll of thunder sounded, and the rain began. Fitting.
When Dorian began speaking, he didn't interrupt. He remained very still, and almost eerily calm, but his fight or flight response was very much engaged. Every instinct inside Fenris told him to run. This couldn't be real, it would only hurt them both, they barely knew each other and letters were hardly enough, their emotions ran too high, Fenris would make a terrible partner to anyone, this was mad—
"The problem," he said at length, haltingly, as though it pained him to admit it, "Is not that I feel differently. It's that I feel the same." He turned his face away for a moment and struggled not to let this overwhelm him. When was the last time he felt so vulnerable? Stripped bare? This was something he'd cradled close to his heart for a long time, a fluttery, delicate feeling he wished he could ignore. But he couldn't. It was hope, and it was so very fragile.
He shook his head a little to clear it. "There is no reason to apologize. You were compelled to speak, as I am now. Perhaps this is better. I ... cannot say." Fenris glanced at Dorian again, reluctant to draw any closer lest he make another mistake like try to kiss him. His fingers curled, thankfully hidden along the horse's neck, who huffed impatiently and nudged Fenris' cheek when he stopped petting her. So he continued, slowly, and tried to piece his thoughts together. True to form, he was too caught up in brooding to actually say anything more. He was nothing if not predictable.
It’s that I feel the same.
Dorian stared at Fenris, a painful sort of hope swelling in his chest. He couldn’t believe that Fenris would feel the same way that he did. It seemed far too good to be true. Love had always been a complicated subject in Tevinter. He’d had his dalliances of course, but it had always been with the understanding that it would never be anything real. That love could not truly exist between two men. He hadn’t believed that, not really, but it had been impressed upon him by the men he’d been with long enough that it was hard not to internalize it. He’d let himself forget with Rilienus, but then that had ended poorly.
He hadn’t meant to feel this way about Fenris. Not because Fenris wasn’t a completely amazing individual or because he wouldn’t be lucky to be with him, but because he could not fathom a reality where his regard was returned. That wasn’t the way of things. Tevinter had left its scars on him and he still had a hard time believing he was worthy of love.
“Why?” The word slipped out almost without his permission, brittle and pained. It hurt to let himself be so vulnerable but he couldn’t help it.
"Because you are wonderful," Fenris answered, the words sounding resigned rather than hopeful or happy. His heart was in his throat. "I spent countless days resisting this—attempting to find fault in you when there was hardly any. You are clever, and funny, and charming, and intelligent, and beautiful. You listen to me where others dismiss, and you want to learn where others are uninterested, and you inspire me in ways no one ever has. For the first time in my life, I've thought about returning to Tevinter, and it's because of you. You, Dorian. Fasta vass."
Fenris bit his lip after the curse, struggling to stem the flow of his speech, but the truth kept tumbling out, unbidden, and he hated himself for it. "I love you, and I can't," he ground out, truly, deeply tormented by it. When he looked at Dorian now, it was with pain in his eyes. "You have fought too hard and achieved too much already to be brought down by me. I won't allow it."
The mare retreated further into her stall away from him, and he let her go with a sinking feeling, knowing this was the life he'd chosen. Fenris would always be alone. And he needed to be okay with that if he ever wanted to achieve what he needed to in order to protect the people who had no one. He had been, at least until the mage's letters began to blossom something inside him, something gentle and soft tucked away behind the steel of his ribs. Dorian had left his mark on him, and Fenris struggled not to unfurl like a flower toward the sun, desperate for his attention and affections.
Well, that was a lot.
That Fenris loved him but was unwilling to pursue it hurt, but Dorian understood his reasons. That didn’t mean he agreed with them, but he did understand. Still, he was not going to allow Fenris to labor under the misapprehension that he was content to be abandoned for his own good.
“This will always be a difficult fight,” he said. “And I will not give up on my dreams of turning Tevinter into something more than it presently is. But I also will not give up all that I am. What is the point of fighting for Tevinter if I still allow its prejudices to change me? What is the point in fighting for what we want if we still conform for the sake of its hatred. I will not pretend I am anything other than what I am and I cannot pretend that I do not love you. Change is meaningless if we are not willing to be the example of that change! I am not a coward and I will not make myself less for the sake of appealing to the exact bigotry I wish to change.”
“When you start making concessions,” he said with a sigh, “it does not stop. It may start with small things, but it will become more and more. I will not allow that to become part of this. I will not become something I am not or lessen what I am fighting for the sake of the very problems I wish to change.”
He felt a complicated sort of frustration. “You are a better man than any I have met,” he said. “You are good and brave and noble, not to mention intelligent and funny and...Maker you are the most gorgeous man I have ever seen in my life...but I felt this way before I ever even saw you.I would not have you disparage yourself. You have made me a better person for knowing you. You have suffered so much and yet you have come through it stronger. The regard I hold for you...there are no words for how deeply I care for you. I love you in a way I have never loved anyone. If you truly do not wish to be with me, I would never try to force you. But if it is simply that you wish to protect me from my own feelings, that is bullshit. Tevinter has taken much from both of us, you more than me. I would not have it take this too.”
He stepped up to Fenris, looking him in the eye. “Tell me you do not want this,” he said, “and I will not speak of it again. I will be content with your friendship. But only at your word.”
Fenris was quiet while Dorian spoke, a slight furrow to his brow as he struggled with himself, resisting the instinct to be taken in by the mage's pretty words. He was so devastatingly charming, so passionate, that the impossible always felt possible. He'd nearly been convinced not only to return to Tevinter, but that his presence there might actually do good. It wouldn't. Fenris knew that. For all the change Dorian brought to their homeland, it could be undone so easily. He'd watched it happen, time and again, and although he had far more faith in the mage's ability to succeed than anyone else in his life, he still wasn't fully convinced he could be part of that. Not when he'd spent so long delivering nothing but death.
He was already shaking his head just a little when Dorian complimented him, glancing away to peer out a nearby window at the rain. If his ears were red, he hoped it would go unnoticed. It made his heart pound. "You are too generous," Fenris said softly. "You see the good in everyone. But you do not understand what this means." He fell silent for a moment, the words tangled up inside him like barbed vines, wound too tight around his throat. "They will use whatever they can to destroy you, Dorian. I have seen it. They are like—dragons cornered in their caves, willing to burn even their own treasured possessions if it means their enemies are consumed in the flames."
Even as he blinked away tears, Fenris remained calm. Or he seemed to, anyway. Inside he was a storm, howling winds and rain, far worse than the weather outside, which continued steadily, but not quite so forcefully. And honestly, he thought that would put an end to it. Fenris braced himself for Dorian to walk away, to give up, and he was startled when the mage approached instead, eyes widening briefly in surprise. "That," he began, then stopped, forced to clear his throat. Dorian's eyes were so pale, so beautiful, that he stumbled for a moment. "That would be a lie," Fenris finished, and against his better judgment, he found himself leaning in to rest their foreheads together.
This was bad. It was so bad. But for a moment, he let himself have this: the warmth of the shared breath between them, the knowledge that they loved and respected each other, and the hope that flickered like a small candlelight, one he really needed to find the strength to stop protecting.
Dorian couldn’t help but laugh when Fenris said that he saw the good in everyone. It could not have been farther from the truth. He was far too cynical for that, but Fenris had earned his regard. He made him believe that his wild plans could be possible. That he truly could make a difference in the world. “I believe the worst of most people,” he assured Fenris. “But you are an exception. You are so much better than anyone else I have known. You are stronger and kinder than anyone else would be in your position. You make me want to be better. You are an inspiration to people.”
He took a steadying breath. “They will do that with or without you,” he insisted. “The only difference would be that without you I would be facing them alone. I can admit to some selfishness. This is going to be a long and difficult road, and I do not wish to walk it without you at my side. This will be hard enough without someone that I can trust. Someone I know without any doubt will not betray me. I do not know that I can manage this without you, Fenris. I do not know that I am strong enough.” Maybe it was foolish to admit that sort of weakness, but he could only hope Fenris would understand.
“But it is more than just me,” he assured Fenris. “The slaves deserve someone to look up to. Someone to inspire them and show them that there is a life outside of everything they suffered. You know it will be hard for them. They will need you to guide them. You and Krem will also be a voice for the rest of Tevinter, outside of the mages. You will make sure everyone is rightly served by what we do. I want you there for selfish reasons, because I can no longer imagine my life without you in it, but I need you there because you are invaluable to everything I wish to build in Tevinter.”
Dorian was so sure that Fenris would turn him down. That he would cling to his stubbornness. And if he did, however much it might pain him, he would keep his word. He would bury his feelings and trouble Fenris with him no longer. He had done so before and he would manage it again. So he could barely breathe as Fenris did the opposite, acknowledging his own feelings. The contact was almost more than he could bear.
“Please, amatus,” he said softly, bringing a hand up to Fenris’s cheek, just savoring the contact for however long it was allowed. “Please don’t make me do this without you.”
It was difficult enough believing all the lovely things Dorian said about him, but this—that Fenris inspired him, and that the mage saw kindness in his heart—it melted away at the ice inside even further, and he felt his resolve begin to waver. "You are strong enough," he insisted fiercely, because he would never doubt that. But this, too, chipped away at his stubbornness. Every part of Fenris yearned to close the distance between them, to make promises of loyalty as much as love. He wanted the future that Dorian spoke of. He wanted to make a home with him, too, and to finally stop his hunt, and to build something lasting that could continue to help the people he dedicated his life to.
But more than anything, what convinced Fenris was Dorian's respect. The mage didn't push. He approached, but never crossed a line, and only reached for him when the elf initiated that first touch. "I won't," he murmured, nuzzling against Dorian's hand for a moment before he turned his head to press a kiss to that palm, and then another to his knuckles. "You will not be alone. I fear for your safety, but the thought of being without you now is ... unbearable."
He gazed at Dorian with softer eyes. The pain lingered, but it was simmering now. Warmer. Darker. "You have my heart," Fenris shaped the words in Tevene, because there was no other language that could convey the depth of his emotion. It was more than simply love; it was respect, and a promise. After a beat, he slipped his arms around Dorian's waist and made no move to do anything further, simply basking in the closeness now that he'd allowed himself this. It felt—overwhelming, but good.
“I don’t know that I am,” Dorian admitted. “Tevinter is insidious. I worry that I would lose myself there. I have known men that I thought were good. That I thought beyond reproach. And they have all fallen to corruption. I know that you think highly of me, but I do not trust myself. If everyone I have ever believed in has faltered, how do I know that I will not?” He took a steadying breath. “I know that you will keep me honest and call me on my failings better than anyone else. I need a good man at my side in that nest of vipers. I never want to become like them but I fear what may come to pass.”
There was nothing Dorian feared more than becoming everything he despised about his homeland. But it seemed as though Fenris had settled on coming with him, and that eased his worries. Fenris would never allow him to become a monster like his father and Alexius had. Fenris would keep him focused on what mattered. He sighed at the press of Fenris’s lips to his hand, feeling a knot loosen in his chest. So long as he had Fenris in his life, he could handle whatever came his way. It was a little terrifying, needing someone this much, but it was worth it.
“And you have mine,” he answered in kind, his own arms moving to wrap around Fenris as they held one another. For once, there was no rush to take things in a more physical direction. As much as he did want to explore that side of things, he was willing to take his time. This was worth it. “You always will.”
"Those who do not fear temptation are the first to fall prey to it," Fenris said, calm in the face of Dorian's concerns. "That you would think on this at all makes you different than most. I admire that, too. It's very brave, Dorian, to look upon yourself so critically in order to protect the ones you wish to help." He paused a moment, tilting his head with a look that meant he was studying the mage. "Do you trust me?" Fenris asked, despite knowing the answer. When he had it, he continued with, "Then trust that I will always be honest with you. In this, and in all things. I will hide nothing—you will know how I feel about your work, and how I feel about you." It was something the elf could offer easily. He'd never been one to hide his opinion, at least not in recent years, and they already talked at length about so many otherwise difficult subjects. If Dorian needed a guide, Fenris would gladly take that task.
Not that this would be easy by any means. The thought of returning to Tevinter still made his skin crawl, and he knew, he knew, it would be many, many months before he wouldn't feel deeply uncomfortable in their homeland. But Dorian was his home now. He felt that certainty inside him like nothing else, a warmth and security he'd barely grasped in Kirkwall before it slipped through his fingers. He couldn't let that happen again. So he was determined to face his fears, and be helpful in any way that he could. So much was at stake. Even though they were far from Tevinter now, the specter of it loomed, casting long shadows.
Fenris sighed softly, running the tips of his fingers along Dorian's spine, almost in wonder. This was the first time he'd willingly reached for anyone before. The first time he didn't brace himself for pain from his markings. It was so freeing. Then Dorian's reply sent a warm shock through him, and Fenris nuzzled their noses together, only a little self-conscious that he was being so openly affectionate. He was just a bit desperate for it. Nobody else needed to know.
Dorian couldn’t help but smile at Fenris’s assertion that he would not fall to temptation. That faith made it easier to believe in himself. He had worried that Fenris might hear his concerns and see them as valid, if only because of his own history, and he would not have blamed Fenris for exercising caution. But it seemed that he had no cause to worry about that. When Fenris asked if he trusted him, his answer was immediate. “Of course I trust you,” he said. “I trust you more than almost anyone.” Almost only because Atisha existed and the two of them had been through things that meant she would always have his complete trust in a way no one else could. He was sure Fenris felt the same about Hawke, even with his concerns about Anders. “I will trust that,” he promised Fenris, “and I promise you that I will be open with you in all things. You will know all of my plans and all of my thoughts. I will hide nothing from you. And I will always respect your counsel.”
There was a relief in knowing that Fenris intended to return to Tevinter with him. Fenris had become important to him - essential even - and he could not imagine doing this without Fenris at his side. He felt a sense of certainty in his actions, knowing that Fenris was on his side in this, and it made him feel as though everything would be alright. With Fenris, he could change Tevinter and make it better. Make it into what it always should have been. He could make a difference. He had always hoped, but there had been doubts. Now, he was sure that they could achieve what they had set out to do.
The closeness and the contact were making his head spin and a pleasant sort of anticipation building in his gut. His gaze dropped to Fenris’s lips and he felt a sudden urge to bridge the gap between them. He pulled back just enough to look Fenris in the eyes and stroked his fingers along his cheek. “May I, amatus?” he asked.
Fenris offered a nod to Dorian's promise in return, but there was a world of meaning in so small a gesture. He not only acknowledged the promise, he trusted it. Dorian wouldn't lie to him. Dorian respected him. And Fenris believed it with all his heart, the last vestiges of his wariness and fear falling away. Perhaps he should have been more surprised that it had been so easy, despite how hard he fought against this very thing all his life. But Dorian made so many impossibilities feel possible, and when he looked at the mage now, it was with a gaze full of nothing but adoration. And still quite a bit of longing, but there would always be that, he suspected.
There was, of course, the matter of his markings and how that would prove difficult for the physical part of their relationship, but this didn't feel like the right time to really discuss the particulars. Fenris was loath to spoil the mood now that they had finally arrived here, a meeting on equal ground and promises for the future. Still, he was surprised when the mage drew back with a look that made him shiver. "Yes," Fenris replied, low and husky. That Dorian would ask for permission was what truly moved him, and he met him halfway, eager, barely able to temper the passion that swept over him. Later, he told himself, and that was a lovely thought, too. Later meant a future, and any future with Dorian at his side made Fenris actually feel hope. For the first time in his life, he was looking forward.