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Chapter Text

Finn walked through Haven with his head held high and a confident smile on his face. He met the gazes of those he passed and greeted each person enthusiastically. The crisp air of the Frostback Mountains made each breath feel like an energy-filled elixir.

It was just two days since the Inquisition returned from Redcliffe with Grand Enchanter Fiona and all of the rebel mages under her command as their new allies, and a dangerous Tevinter magister as their prisoner. There had been more than a little uproar at the arrival of the mages, particularly from the Templars, but Cullen, despite his own misgivings, had kept the soldiers in check. Solas was in talks with Fiona and the more advanced mages, working out just how they would be able to channel all of their magic to heal the Breach.

In the meantime, Finn was hard at work making sure his new charges were settled in and planning his next mission to continue building up the Inquisition’s reputation. For the first time, he actually felt confident in his decisions and happy about the results.

I can’t believe I caused this, he thought once again as he passed the mage encampment, waving at Connor and the others, who returned his greeting with genuine smiles. I was able to save the mages of southern Thedas. If they can really help close the Breach, I might be able to even make it so that they’ll never have to live in Circles again!

He was determined not to think about what the alternative would be. His nightmares were already plagued enough with images of what would happen if he failed.

The Terror’s claws… Cassandra and Varric’s lifeless bodies…

Shaking himself, Finn found his feet leading him in the direction of the small group of huts up an incline, which included the apothecary. It was a common path, since that was where Solas usually was, and Finn enjoyed hearing the older elf’s stories of the Beyond. Now, however, he had another reason for wanting to be there.

Dorian had taken to lingering near the apothecary during the day, claiming that the spot blocked off more of the chill winter winds of their location, allowing him to read without his fingers freezing. Finn hadn’t asked why he wasn’t reading in a warmer location, like the tavern or the communal fires. Unfortunately, despite the help Dorian had provided the Inquisition, and even despite Finn vouching for him every chance he got, the Tevene man was still the target of many suspicious glares and harsh whispers.

So, Finn had taken it upon himself to visit Dorian when he could, making sure he was eating his meals and checking on his general wellbeing. Until today, there hadn’t been much time for a real chat. He decided to change that.

“Good morning, Solas!” he said as he walked by. He was met with a nod and a tight smile. There were noticeable bags under the mage’s eyes, which Finn guessed were due to his ongoing research on how to close the Breach.

“Well, well,” a familiar voice drawled from the shadow of the healer’s hut. “The almighty Lord Lavellan has come to mingle, has he?” There was a playful twinkle in Dorian’s eye.

Finn laughed. “I’m nowhere near almighty, nor do I want to be.” He leaned against the nearby wall. “I just realized I don’t know much about you, so I thought we could chat. If you have time, I mean.”

Dorian cocked his head, an easygoing smirk coming to his face. “Why, my good fellow, I have two things in spades at the present: free time and narcissism. What would you like to know about your resident mage from Tevinter?” He said this last part with a comical waver in his voice, wiggling his fingers as he did so.

“Well,” Finn considered. “I guess we can start with the basics. I mean, I know you’re from Tevinter, studied with Alexius, and are friends with Felix, but not much else.”

“Beyond my being so charming and well-dressed?” Dorian quipped with a wink.

“I-I mean, yeah. Anyone can see that j-just by looking, right?” Finn’s ears flushed and he flicked them irritably. Anyone can see that just by looking?! Really?

Dorian chuckled. He had pegged Lavellan as being easily flustered back at Redcliffe and was quite pleased to see that hadn’t changed. Better still, the elf looked quite adorable with the tips of those pointy ears turning a delicious pink. “You would be surprised. Many aren’t half as discerning as you. But I had an inkling from the beginning that you are a man who knows quality.”

“I am pretty good at telling which herbs are best for picking!” Finn replied proudly.

“I’m sure you are,” Dorian said. “Now, what was I talking about? Ah yes. Me.”

Clearing his throat, he spread out his arms in a grand gesture. “I am the scion of House Pavus, a product of generations of careful breeding, and the repository of its hopes and dreams!” He lowered his arms. “Naturally, I despised it all: the lies, the scheming, the illusions of supremacy. That’s Tevinter in a nutshell, isn’t it? Needless to say, my family was not happy with my choices.”

Finn frowned. “Why wouldn’t they be? Not wanting to lie, scheme, or act superior are all…good things, right? Shouldn’t they be proud of your character?”

“You would think,” Dorian sighed. “But unfortunately, such things are expected of one of the noble houses. I refused to fit into their idyllic plan. If they had their way, by now I’d be married to some unlucky girl from a powerful family. We’d live in luxurious despair, despising each other as I waited to take my father’s place in the Magisterium.”

“Wait, I thought you said you weren’t a magister,” Finn cut in.

“Technically, I’m what is called an altus,” Dorian explained. “I’m next in line to be a magister, since my father is one, though I will likely never have the honor.” He grinned dryly. “Fleeing your homeland and being an embarrassment and a pariah make social climbing a bit difficult.”

“I’ll bet,” Finn muttered. He knew a few things about being an embarrassment and a pariah. “Do you ever talk with your family or send letters?”

“No and no.” Dorian folded his arms with a huff. “There are only a few people from home I have any wish to hear from, and none of them share blood with me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Finn trailed off awkwardly, wondering if he had misspoken.

“Why? You did nothing wrong.” Dorian waved his hand dismissively. “I’ve made peace with my relationship with my family.” This was a total lie, of course, but no one needed to know that. “I take it your familial relations are…less fraught?” He remembered how Lavellan had asked Varric and Cassandra to bring messages to his Clan in the event of his death, and how distraught he had been in that hellish future when he learned of their demise.

Finn grimaced. “It…depends,” he admitted. “My babae and sister are wonderful! I couldn’t ask for better.”

“Babae?”

“It’s Dalish for ‘father,’” Finn explained. “Babae has always been there for me. He can help me understand things when I’d otherwise have trouble.” He glanced to the side. “I really miss him. Ever since finding out about what could happen…” he trailed off, pushing away any red lyrium-stained memories. “I-I’ve sent Leliana’s people to make sure the Clan is safe. Since we know that the Duke of Wycome is bad, we can hopefully protect them from him.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Dorian said, his tone softening. “Knowing such valuable information ahead of time will help save many lives, theirs included.” He felt a pang of envy at how warmly Lavellan spoke of his father. It felt like ages since Dorian had held any sort of paternal loyalty.

“So…” Dorian continued, changing the subject. “Dalish is the language you speak. It’s also the name for your people, correct?”

“That’s right!” Finn nodded. “Did you not know what we’re called?”

“I mean…we don’t have Dalish Clans coming northward…for obvious reasons,” Dorian admitted. “So, I’ve never met one of your people before, although I’ve heard about them. A little. I hope this won’t be an issue between us. I am here to help you deal with the Venatori, after all.”

At this, Finn felt a familiar squirming sensation in his gut. It was the same twisting disgust that always accompanied thoughts of Tevinter, their blood magic-wielding magisters, and their cruel slavers. Even now, that instinct was there. Part of him wondered if he was betraying the Dalish by talking so casually to someone like Dorian, who had been part of the same class of people who would happily enslave his own.

Then, he shook himself, remembering how Dorian had saved him from Alexius, how he had protected him in that hellscape of a future, and how he had literally just talked about how he was a pariah of Tevinter.

“It’s okay,” Finn said finally, flashing a smile that was only a little forced. “I mean, you’re not really one of them anymore, right?”

Dorian frowned. “I-”

“My Lord Herald!” An elven servant came running over, stopping short and glancing nervously toward Dorian before bowing to Lavellan. “Lady Montilyet wishes to speak with you.”

Finn suppressed a groan. “Thank you, Triss. Did you see any nobles with her?”

Triss straightened up, surprised that the Herald had remembered her name. “No, Herald. Just her.”

Finn let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good. Also, I’m not the Herald. You can just call me Lavellan.”

“Y-Yes, Hera- I mean Lord Lavellan!” Triss stammered. She bowed once more before taking her leave.

“What, you don’t like being around nobles?” Dorian mock-pouted.

“I have a one-noble-per-day limit,” Finn replied dryly. “Talk to you soon, Lord Pavus.”

Dorian responded with an exaggerated bow. “Until next time, Lord Lavellan!”

Finn couldn’t help but giggle, doing a ridiculous curtsy before reluctantly leaving to meet with Josephine.

Dorian’s smile faded as Lavellan left. Not really one of them… He shook his head, deciding to seek out a quiet spot to read. He was getting too many fearful stares now that the Inquisition’s leader had departed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Over the next few days, Finn found himself trying desperately to juggle his responsibilities: meeting with ambassadors, dictating replies to letters, getting his reading lessons from Varric, making sure the mages and Templars didn’t kill each other, and making sure overall morale was high.

Yet, despite the acute lack of spare moments, he found himself always making time to chat with Dorian. The charming human was honestly a lot of fun to talk to. He always had something scathing to say about the latest batch of snooty nobles and was filled with interesting stories from his travels. Finn even found himself enjoying the tales of Dorian’s homeland.

Dorian’s face would take on a sort of nostalgic gentleness as he recalled the old buildings, the cozy coffee houses, the street vendors selling hot simits (sesame-covered, ring-shaped bread) on sticks. He talked about his time studying magic and the hijinks he got into at school.

These moments of enjoyment were often followed by that familiar disquiet that threatened to twist Finn’s stomach.

He wanted to ignore it. He wanted to believe what he had initially chosen to believe: that Dorian’s status as a pariah meant that he was completely removed from Tevinter, completely opposed to all that they did. He had implied as much when he spoke of his hatred for the corruption of noble life.

But then there would be a moment when Dorian was reminiscing about a beautiful garden he’d been to and offhandedly remarked on the skill of the slaves who tended it. He’d casually mention seeing the slaves working outside while studying with Felix. Still, he wasn’t speaking positively about slavery, per say. He was just commenting on the fact that there were slaves. That didn’t mean he was in favor of such things.

It doesn’t mean he’s against it either, a persistent voice nagged at Finn, making his stomach squirm again. He thought about Dorian’s casual comment on how Dalish Clans don’t travel north, about how he had asked if his status would be an issue.

Finn wanted to brush it off, to ignore it. It would be easier to do so, surely. But, as the days passed, he realized he couldn’t. That feeling of guilt and uncertainty wouldn’t go away until he knew for certain where Dorian stood.

He was preparing for a trip to the Hinterlands and had been considering bringing Dorian along for his first mission since Redcliffe. But he knew that the discomfort building within him would be too distracting. The uncertainty would nag at him. As uncomfortable as it was, he couldn’t put it off any longer.

So, the day before his departure, he sought out Dorian once more.

“Why hello, Lord Lavellan!” Dorian cried out, waving his hand in a twirly gesture while bowing deeply.

Despite his nervousness, Finn felt the corner of his mouth quirk upward. The exaggerated bows and greetings of “Lord Pavus” and “Lord Lavellan” had already become a sort of inside joke for the two. Clicking his heels together and imitating a salute he had seen Cullen do, he replied “Top of the evening, Lord Pavus!”

Dorian snorted. “Oh dear, don’t tell me you’re emulating our dear Commander. You’ll never get the pole out of your arse.”

Finn covered his mouth as a startled laugh came out of him. “Dorian! That’s mean!” he said, even as he tried to smother a giggle.

“Hasn’t anyone told you? I’m quite awful,” Dorian drawled. “Just the other day, I swear that servant girl was convinced she’d be bewitched just by walking by me.”

At the mention of one of the servants, Finn felt that uncomfortable feeling return. He hated to ruin the mood, but…he had to know.

“Hey, Dorian,” he ventured, steeling himself. “You’ve been telling me a lot about Tevinter and…well…” He took a breath. “Anyone who talks about the Imperium…well, they know it’s the center of the slave trade…” he trailed off lamely.

Dorian’s smile faded as all the mirth he had felt at Lavellan’s appearance evaporated, leaving behind a familiar sense of cold, numb anticipation. Here it comes, he thought. The past few days had been going too well, he supposed. “That is true,” he said, his tone flat.

Finn’s left hand had started involuntarily tapping against his leg and he tried to still it. “Did…Did you have slaves?” he finally asked.

“Not personally, but my family does and treats them well,” Dorian replied brusquely. “Honestly, I never thought about it until I came south. Back home, it’s…how is it? Slaves are everywhere. You don’t question it. I’m not even certain many slaves do.”

Finn’s lip curled with distaste, even as he tried to keep his expression neutral. Does he really think no one questions it? That the slaves they drag back from the south don’t question it?! He tried to remember what Josephine had been teaching him about remaining calm when talking to a difficult noble. “Don’t take anything personally” was one of the big lessons. But it was hard not to do that here.

“That’s it? You don’t question it?” he burst out, his voice coming out far sharper than he had intended.

Dorian’s eyes flashed and his own lips turned downwards. There it was. The judgement. Right on cue. “In the south you have alienages, slums both human and elven. The desperate have no way out. Back home, a poor man can sell himself. As a slave, he could have a position of respect, comfort, and could even support a family. Some slaves are treated poorly, it’s true, but do you honestly think inescapable poverty is better?”

“Treated poorly?!” Finn snapped, his fists clenching, all of his previous trepidation gone. “Is that what you call it? Being stripped of your freedom, your identity?! Being used for whatever blood magic ritual the shems need a sacrifice for?! Being abused and beaten just because of what you are?!”

“Abuse heaped on those without power isn’t limited to Tevinter, my friend,” Dorian growled back. “I don’t know what it’s like to be a slave, true. I never thought about it until I saw how different it was here. But I suspect you don’t know either, nor should you believe that every tale of Tevinter excess is the norm.”

The two were silent for a long moment, glaring at each other, the tension in the air crackling like static.

Finn felt his eyes burning. His fists were white with how tightly he was clenching them. He took a step back, trying to breathe like Josephine had taught him. As he did, the rage abruptly left him and was replaced with an aching weight of disappointment that turned the twisting in his stomach into a heavy, sinking sensation.

“I…I’m done talking. Goodnight, Dorian,” he muttered mechanically, turning on his heel and leaving. He noticed Solas watching him and paused. “Solas, I need a mage to go with me to the Hinterlands tomorrow. I know you’re busy, but-”

“I’ll be ready at dawn, lethellin,” Solas said kindly.

Finn nodded and continued toward his quarters. He waited until he was inside before letting out the breath he had been holding. He allowed the tears to fall then. If he hadn’t felt so miserable, he would have probably wondered if Cassandra would be proud of him for controlling his crying so well.

He wasn’t sure how to feel, so his mind went through all the possible emotions: anger at himself for being stupid enough to open up to Dorian, sadness that he had to end what he had thought would be a promising friendship, guilt that he felt sad about that in the first place… He curled up on his bed, trying to relax for the time being but unable to keep his teeth from grinding together.

Dorian, meanwhile, marched back to his tent, feeling Solas’s disgusted glare burning holes into his back. He wanted to punch someone, to set something on fire. But he couldn’t do that, could he? Couldn’t let anyone find even more reason to find fault with the evil Tevinter magister, oh no!

He’d probably be booted from the Inquisition by morning. He should have known it had all been too good to be true.

He thought of Lavellan’s laughter during their chats, then of the sheer disgust and anger that had radiated from him during that last talk. Pushing the images aside, along with the clawing shame that tried to find purchase in his brain, Dorian curled up in his bedroll and fell asleep.

Alone, just like always.

Chapter Text

“So, we’re dealing with a cult from Tevinter that’s responsible for the Breach. And now, there’s apparently a cult right in Ferelden that literally worships the Breach.” Finn ran his hand over his face, already exhausted as they departed camp the morning after their arrival to the Hinterlands. “Is making cults the new fad? Will we be hearing about the top five most popular cultists next time we’re in Val Royeaux?”

Sera snorted loudly. “Frig, I can actually see that! Big ole posters everywhere, jewelry the color of the ‘Almighty Twinklefather’s’ eyes or some shite.”

“I think I slept with a circus performer with a similar name,” Iron Bull said, scratching his chin as he thought back with a fond smile. “Damn, he was flexible…”

“We don’t need the full story, Bull,” Solas said tersely.

Sera blew a raspberry. “Speak for yourself! I want deets!”

Finn laughed. “Maybe at camp.” He looked over at Solas. The older elf had been noticeably tense and grouchy since their departure from Haven. “Are you alright?” he asked in a quieter voice. “Did you get enough sleep?”

Solas blinked in surprise at the question, then forced a smile. “Yes. Just…thinking on what else needs to be done when we return.”

“I’m sorry,” Finn muttered. “I know you’re working hard to figure out how to close the Breach. I probably shouldn’t have brought you.”

“Don’t apologize, lethallin,” Solas assured him. “I understand. I know that Vivienne has been less than kind about your decision regarding the rebel mages. And after your talk with the Tevinter yesterday, I don’t blame you for not trusting him at your side.”

“It’s not that I don’t-! I mean, he saved my life, but-! I just-!” Finn’s grip on Ginger’s reins tightened. “I don’t know…”

“You needn’t defend him,” Solas said. “Anyone who tolerates slavery doesn’t deserve the time of day.”

“I agree, but…” Finn sighed. “I didn’t think he was like that. He went against his country to help us. He saved me from being erased by Alexius. He was there for me in that evil future. He’s not… I mean, a bad person wouldn’t do those things, right?” His stomach twisted with guilt and confusion. “Maybe it’s because I put him on the spot. Maybe-”

“No.” Solas’s response was sharp and final. “Do not blame yourself. People really ought to be ‘put on the spot’ more often. There are certain actions that are reprehensible, no matter what: slavery, rape, harming children, torturing animals; there can be no justification for any of those things.”

“I know!” Finn insisted, then again, in a softer voice. “I know…”

Solas reached over, patting Finn’s shoulder. “Quiet your thoughts, lethallin. You did nothing wrong.”

Finn knew Solas was right. He knew that he should probably keep his distance from Dorian in the future. Some issues were black and white, after all. He’d be betraying his people by tolerating something like this.

A disgrace to the People…

He shook himself before his thoughts could start spiraling. They had arrived at Winterwatch Tower. There were cultists to talk to and a rift to close.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dorian spent the day after Lavellan’s departure in solitude, which was normal for him. He read the books he carried with him for probably the hundredth time. He considered going into the Chantry to look for other tomes but quickly dismissed the idea. He didn’t need to deal with the scandalized gasps of the Sisters.

He closed his book with a sigh and put it back in his bag. His foot tapped irritably. He wanted a stiff drink, but the tavern was full of people who would glare at him and a bartender who would probably spit in the mug. He was restless, but where was he supposed to go? He wished he was with Lavellan and the others. Even traveling with that brutish Qunari would be an improvement over the tedium he was now subjected to.

Because boredom was all he was feeling. Period. He was not feeling at all uncomfortable or guilty about his last conversation with Lavellan. He had stated simple facts about his homeland, and the elf had been unable to stomach it. That wasn’t his problem.

“Kaffas...” he grumbled.

“Hey, Sparkler!”

Varric’s voice caused Dorian to jump, though he kept from letting out a most undignified yelp. He quickly regained his composure and stood up. “Ah, Varric. Come to my dark corner, have you?”

“It’s darker than usual.” Varric folded his arms. “You’ve got all the presence of a stormcloud, and Softy was weirdly quiet when preparing to leave yesterday. He wouldn’t tell me what was going on, but Chuckles made some comment about ‘not mixing with Vints,’ so I figured you two had a fight.”

Dorian scowled. Solas had practically glared holes into his head after that conversation, so he wasn’t surprised. Elves sticking together against the scary Vint, apparently.

“And what of it?” he asked aloud. “Are you really so desperate for juicy drama for your next story?”

Varric put a hand over his heart with a mocking grin. “Hey, now! I happen to love juicy drama for its own sake. Not all of it makes it into my books.” His expression sobered. “Look, I know you’ve been isolated since getting here, even after you pulled our great leader’s ass out of the fire. I’ve been told I’m pretty easy to talk to, so…” He trailed off, waving his hand in a “go ahead” gesture.

Dorian hesitated. “You…really don’t know what happened? Lavellan didn’t tell you?” He honestly had expected the details of their argument to have spread across all of Haven by this point.

Varric shook his head. “Nah. Said he didn’t want to talk about it. Shushed Chuckles before he could tell me anything. He’s not really one for dragging others into his problems.” He glanced to the side and sighed. “No matter how much he probably should sometimes…” he muttered, half to himself.

That…was not what Dorian had expected at all.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it. That ugly sense of shame was threatening once again to rear its ugly head. But then again, it would be nice to talk to someone instead of sitting and stewing. “Very well.”

The two walked down one of the paths into the more wooded areas of Haven, finding a mostly snow-free rock to sit on. There, Dorian haltingly recounted that last conversation he and Lavellan had shared.

Varric nodded slowly, his expression neutral. Finally, at the end, he let out a whistle. “Hm. Yeah, you definitely fucked up.”

Dorian scoffed. Why did he even bother with this? He started to stand up, only for Varric to yank him firmly but gently back down to the rock.

“Hang on, Sparkler. I’m not done yet.”

“If you’re planning on giving me a lecture on what a terrible person I am, I’m not interested,” Dorian grumbled.

Varric rolled his eyes. “Oh, get off your pity party for a second and listen to me! Maybe you’ll learn something!”

Dorian blinked, struck dumb for a moment, then glared petulantly down at the snow. Varric continued.

“Look, Sparkler. I know what it’s like, loving an incredibly flawed homeland,” Varric sighed, looking up at the sky. “Having outsiders look in and only pick out the worst qualities, hearing over and over that it’s a shithole and that the people who live there are just as bad, that you’re just as bad. It makes you want to defend it, to show people all the good things they pass over, to convince them that the bad stuff isn’t really as bad as they think.”

Dorian turned his gaze from the ground and looked at Varric, giving the dwarf his full attention for the first time. He had never heard someone else sum up his feelings for Tevinter so plainly before.

“But sometimes,” Varric continued, a crease appearing between his eyes. “The bad stuff is every bit as bad as people say, if not worse. Ignoring it, trying to talk around it, trying to convince yourself it’s not really that bad…that won’t make it go away. Sometimes I wonder what would’ve changed if…if I had done more, listened more, tried to understand more. Maybe Blondie wouldn’t have been driven to do what he did.”

Varric turned back toward Dorian. “I know what slaves in Tevinter deal with. You’ve read The Tale of the Champion, right?”

Dorian nodded. “I have, but what happened to Fenris is hardly common-”

“Doesn’t matter,” Varric cut in. “The problem is that it happened, and that it was perfectly legal and allowed. I heard other stories from him too, stories I never put to paper and will never repeat.” He folded his arms. “And that’s without even touching the issue of slavers going outside Tevinter to capture people. Where do you think most of those slaves come from?”

“I- That-”

“They’re elves, Sparkler! Dalish elves, who have to rely only on themselves for protection, and city elves in alienages, who are treated like shit by the humans, and often get kidnapped from the streets they’re forced to sleep on!”

Varric barreled on. “Have you already forgotten how terrified Softy was when he first met you? When he had to face Alexius? That wasn’t his normal anxiousness, Sparkler. He grew up fearing Tevinter like how a halla grows up fearing wolves. He has known people who were killed or taken by slavers. I don’t know the details, but I know that much is true. And you looked him in the face and told him that slavery is some kind of ‘better alternative’ to poverty!”

Dorian blinked. He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again as he realized that no words were forthcoming. His brows furrowed as he thought back to when he had first met Lavellan, how the elf had tensed immediately when he learned Dorian was from Tevinter, how his hackles had remained firmly up until they were trapped together in that hellish future. How he had slowly opened up in the days after their terrifying ordeal. How nervous he had looked right before he first broached the question of slavery, and how sad, angry and…defeated he had looked in the aftermath of their argument.

That question had been a test, Dorian realized. A test from someone who had been trying to see past the fear that had been part of his psyche since birth, from someone who had asked Dorian questions about his homeland and had been genuinely trying to get to know him as a person.

A test that Dorian had failed miserably.

“Kaffas…”

“Shit, indeed.” Varric stood up, dusting snow from his pants.

“W-Wait!” Dorian cried, quickly standing up as well. “How do I fix this?!”

“Step one, apologize. Step two, do better,” Varric replied simply. “Maybe Softy’ll forgive you, maybe not. That’s up to him. Whether he does or not, you should still work on yourself. That’s all you can do. That’s all any of us can do after fucking up. Believe me, I know,” he said with a short, self-deprecating laugh.

“I…” Dorian’s shoulders slumped. “I suppose you’re right… Thank you, Varric. I should…figure out what I’m going to say when he returns…”

“Why don’t you sit by the fire by my tent?” Varric asked, patting his arm. “I have some good booze, and it’s a lot easier to think when you aren’t freezing your ass off.”

For the first time since the argument with Lavellan, a genuine smile crept onto Dorian’s face. “Well, how can I decline such a lovely offer?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Okay, am I actually speaking Elvhen or some other language without realizing it?” Finn asked as they departed Winterwatch Tower hours later. “Did I not tell them repeatedly that I’m not the Herald of Andraste, both before and after I closed that rift?!”

“Expecting cultists to listen to reason is like thinking the prostitute you hired is actually in love with you,” Iron Bull said sagely. “It’s just not happening.”

“Ooh, that’s good! I’m stealing that!” Sera said with a cackle.

Finn laughed along with her, feeling his heart lighten a little. True, he was annoyed at the insistence of the masses calling him the “Herald of Andraste.” But he had done what he came to do: the rift was closed and the cultists were all too happy to listen to his orders. He had, of course, told them to devote their time and resources to helping the refugees. Between them and the newly liberated Redcliffe, the people suffering in the Hinterlands would actually have a fighting chance.

Overall, it had been a good day. Still, Finn didn’t feel much besides the loud sort of exhaustion that kept sleep just out of reach, even as night fell. In fact, the formless thoughts in his head were so loud, he didn’t notice the Iron Bull’s approach until just before the Qunari sat down next to him at the edge of camp.

“Oh, hi Bull,” he greeted. “Having trouble sleeping too?”

“Nah, just winding down before turning in,” Bull replied, folding his arms and fixing his good eye on Finn. “So. What did the Vint do to mess with your head, Boss?”

Finn clicked his tongue in annoyance. “He didn’t mess with my head. He doesn’t use blood magic! We just had a fight. Why does everyone have to assume the worst?” He paused, frowning. “Hang on, I didn’t even mention Dorian to you.”

“Ben-Hassrath, remember?” Bull asked, tapping his ear. “Eavesdropping on you and Solas was child’s play. Besides, you suck at hiding your emotions. Saw you heading toward where he and Solas usually are the day before we left, then storming off a little bit later. Since Solas is here and Dorian isn’t, it wasn’t hard to figure out who you’re mad at.”

Breathing a sigh, Finn nodded. “You got me. Just…don’t go spreading it around, okay? He joined to help with the Breach and fight the Venatori.”

“Hey, I’m not here to get involved with petty arguments. Not exactly worth reporting to my superiors.” Bull shrugged. “But if you want to rant to someone who isn’t Solas…”

Finn hesitated, then thought Why not? He already knows we fought, and it’s not like he likes Dorian anyway. Telling him wouldn’t really change anything…

The Iron Bull listened to Finn as he recounted the conversation with Dorian and what had led up to it. “And…I don’t know,” he finished with a sigh. “If he was just some asshole noble, I wouldn’t let it bother me so much. But he seemed different! I thought we were becoming friends.”

“Maybe you were.” Bull shrugged. “But yeah, it’s hard to be friends with someone whose morals go directly against yours.”

“Yeah…”

“That being said,” Bull continued. “You think his thoughts are set in stone, or do you think you could talk to him about them?”

Finn blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying: people know what they know. If they grow up in a place where grass is blue and never see anything else, they might not believe in green grass even if they’re standing in a field of it,” Bull replied, staring at the sky. “Some concepts are totally alien until a person leaves their home and experiences more of the world. Some ideas remain abstract and distant unless a person is directly confronted with reality.”

“Could slavery really be an abstract idea?” Finn asked. “It’s so obviously evil!”

“Because you’ve experienced the full reality of what it means,” Bull said. “But a noble from a family that doesn’t treat their slaves like shit, who only ever interacted with people who were lifted from poverty by selling themselves, isn’t going to see things the same way as you, at least not at first.”

Finn considered Bull’s words. It did make sense when he thought about it. Maybe Dorian didn’t realize just how prevalent slavers are, or the full nature of the abuse done to slaves. If his parents sheltered him from such things and he never learned about them before leaving Tevinter…it was possible that his perception was warped.

“So…you think I should talk to him about this again?” he ventured.

The Iron Bull shook his head. “I don’t think you ‘should’ do anything. Educating ignorant people isn’t your responsibility. I’m just saying it’s an option.”

“What would you do?” Finn pressed.

“Honestly, it depends,” Bull said. “It’s not my job to convince people that the Qunari aren’t a bunch of ox-man savages, and I don’t waste time on assholes. But if someone asks me a genuine question or has a misconception but isn’t being a dick about it, I have no problem talking to them and setting them straight. Do you think talking would be worth it? Is it something you want to do? If yes, then do it. What’s the worst that can happen? You already had your fight, after all.”

Finn considered Bull’s words carefully. It was true: he was dissatisfied with how his last talk with Dorian had ended, and he didn’t want to leave things where they were. Maybe, just maybe, this was something that could be talked through. If Dorian doubled down on defending slavery, Finn could walk away knowing he had at least tried to keep his promise to Felix.

He also found himself thinking of Cassandra and how convinced he had once been that she was a cruel individual he couldn’t turn his back on. Now, she was one of his most trusted friends. If he could be so wrong about her, was it possible that he wasn’t seeing the full picture with Dorian?

“I…I’ll talk to him,” Finn decided. “I think it’ll give me peace of mind, if nothing else.” He smiled up at Bull. “Ma serannas, Iron Bull.”

“No problem, Boss.” Bull grinned as he stood up. “I’m gonna hit the hay. Night!”

“Goodnight,” Finn replied. He sat quietly for a few more minutes, listening to the night sounds around him, before finally retiring to his tent.

Chapter Text

Dorian was waiting near the entrance to Haven not long after hearing the announcement that the “Herald of Andraste” was spotted returning. He tried to appear unconcerned, both because he hated appearing desperate in any circumstance and because he was aware of several soldiers eying him and really did not need them accusing him of planning to set the path to Haven on fire with his eyes, or some similar nonsense.

When the elegant form of Lavellan’s red hart came into view, Dorian swallowed once, steeling himself even as his heart thudded uncomfortably. He could see that Lavellan had dismounted and was leading the tired deer with a gentle hand on the bridle, talking quietly to the creature. He half-stumbled when he noticed Dorian waiting for him, but quickly righted himself, though the deer snorted in annoyance.

No turning back now. Dorian walked over, falling into step beside Lavellan, trying to ignore the warning glare Solas shot him from the back of his horse. “Welcome back, Lord Lavellan,” he greeted, not adding any joking flourish to his words this time.

“I- Thank you,” Finn replied, unsure of what else to say. He had resolved to speak with Dorian again, once he built up the courage, but he hadn’t expected the mage to be literally waiting for his arrival. He watched him warily out of the corner of his eye.

Dorian decided to just get it out. “I think we need to have another chat. I…well, quite frankly, I owe you an apology,” he said, trying not to stumble over the words he’d rehearsed in his head. “And a proper explanation for my behavior, if you wish to hear it. After you’ve rested from your journey, obviously.”

At this, Finn felt the tension in his shoulders relax and some of the tightness in his chest uncoil. He turned his head to meet Dorian’s gaze properly. “I’d like that,” he replied. “I need to get Ginger settled and report to my advisors, so maybe in an hour? Usual spot?”

“Really? I, ah, mean of course! I’ll be there.” Dorian honestly hadn’t expected him to agree to talk so easily. He was rather furious last time after all, he reflected. Then again, perhaps he’s too tired to be truly angry right now. He supposed he should be thankful for that.

As he walked back toward the apothecary, he replayed his talk with Varric in his mind, as well as the smaller chats the two had shared afterward. Ultimately, the best advice the dwarf had been able to offer was to give a genuine apology and leave the rest to Lavellan. So, he prepared to do just that. He would say his piece and listen to whatever Lavellan had to say. Hopefully, this would end with the rift between them mended.

He was, admittedly, surprised at just how much he wanted Lavellan to forgive him. As a rule, he made a point of not giving a damn about the opinions of others. It’s how he’d survived for so long with his head held high. Vying for someone else’s approval only ever ended in heartbreak.

But Lavellan was different. He wasn’t some rich bastard who expected Dorian to kiss his boot or kowtow to some idiotic political tango. He also wasn’t one of the fearful masses who hated him on sight. At least, not anymore.

He was open, genuine, and kind; all things a person in power shouldn’t be. Yet, here he was, trying to save all of Thedas. Dorian had been at his side when the true horror of what was stacked against them was revealed. He had watched the man break over and over again in the face of red lyrium and demons, only to come back stronger each time. He remembered the kindness Lavellan had shown him in the aftermath of their awful adventure, consistently checking on him, bringing him food, and defending him to the boldest of the anti-Tevinter rabble.

Dorian didn’t know how long he would have this strange, brave, gentle-hearted elf in his life, but he knew that he wanted to make the most of that time. He knew that he wanted to part ways as friends when the Breach was sealed and this was all over. He wanted to be someone Lavellan would think of fondly from time to time in the future.

Ironically, the last person he sought that kind of approval from had been none other than Alexius.

As promised, Finn approached Dorian after talking with his advisors about the Inquisition’s newest allies. His hand tapped occasionally against his leg, but he wasn’t as nervous as he thought he would be. Then again, Dorian had outright said that he wanted to apologize, so that was a good sign. Still, Finn felt like he needed to explain just how important and serious the issue of Tevinter slavery was, both to him personally and his people as a whole.

He noticed Solas eying him as he walked by and gave him a reassuring smile. “Hi, Dorian,” he greeted as he approached the apothecary.

Dorian felt his back straighten instinctively as he prepared to speak. “Lord Lavellan, I-”

“Wait.” Finn held up his hand. “I’m going to hear you out, but I need to say some stuff first.”

Dorian nodded readily. “Yes, of course.” He felt his shoulders tense for the rebuke he was surely about to receive.

“You were right about one thing before: Neither of us has ever been a slave, thank the Creators,” Finn began. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m talking about. Among my people, Tevinter as a whole is something to fear. When we speak of shemlen oppressors, it’s the slavers from Tevinter that come to mind first. From a young age, I’ve learned that a Tevinter patrol finding us means death, either for us or for the slavers. Oftentimes, it’s both.”

Dorian grimaced as he listened and took in the sad, faraway expression dominating the elf’s face. Varric had said as much during their talk but hearing it directly from Lavellan somehow was so much worse.

“When individuals or smaller patrols need to venture further away from the Clan,” Finn continued. “We are given vials of deathroot extract so that, if we’re caught, we can end our lives rather than be captured, used for blood magic, or…or raped.”

Dorian let out a sharp puff of air.

“My husband- well, my former husband, was from a Clan that was almost entirely wiped out by slavers.” Finn’s eyes became clouded as he remembered that day. “It was Arlathvhen, the gathering of the Clans, when we discovered that Clan Adahl had run afoul of a large group of slavers. In order to save the children and younger hunters…the Keeper and the Clan’s First remained behind with all of the hahrens and several experienced hunters. The Clan’s Second led everyone away while…while the Keeper and First willingly turned into abominations.”

“Maker’s breath…” Dorian gasped.

Finn nodded, shivering as he remembered the sheer horror that had filled him when he first heard the story. “The eyes of those who survived…they were so hollow. A little over a dozen of them were able to escape in the end. There were no survivors of the battle, elf or human. The few who remained were all that was left of Clan Adahl. Not only the people, but most of the artifacts and scrolls that had been passed down for generations, were all destroyed. An entire faction of our culture, wiped out in less than an hour.”

He took a shuddering breath, feeling hot tears trailing down his cheeks. “The survivors joined the other Clans. My husband and two others joined Clan Lavellan. They were…changed by what happened.” He shook his head, as if the memory could be dislodged by doing so. “And that’s just one incident. There have been so many more, just within my lifetime. Women disappearing, children found with their chests carved open in the middle of a bloody circle, hunters going on a patrol and never coming home.

“That’s what Tevinter slavery really is, Dorian,” Finn finished. “That’s why I was scared of you at first. That’s why I needed to know where you stand. That’s why I was so angry when you defended it to me. Before you say anything else, I need you to understand that.”

Taking a deep breath, Finn wiped the tears from his face and looked Dorian in the eye. At least, he tried to. Dorian’s gaze had gone to the ground and the hands at his side were clenched into fists. “Dorian…?” he ventured.

“Kaffas…” Dorian gritted his teeth, shaking his head angrily as he mentally berated himself once again. The truth was so much worse than what Varric had implied. He took several steadying breaths before looking Lavellan in the eye again. He was stunned to see no anger there. The elf was just…waiting.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, his voice utterly defeated. “I was foolish to say what I did. Truly foolish. I’m so used to people insulting my homeland and scowling at me like I’m some sort of venomous snake when they find out where I’m from. I know it’s a poor excuse. My relationship with Tevinter is…complicated. I had to leave, but I also have so many fond memories. I believe that it can become better than it is, and there are so many aspects of life there that are beautiful. It makes me want to defend it, especially to someone I’ve…well, someone I’ve come to respect a great deal.” He glanced at Lavellan with a hesitant half-smile.

Finn blinked in surprise. He knew that he and Dorian had been getting along well before their argument, but he hadn’t realized the human thought so highly of him.

“But,” Dorian continued. “My patriotic pride and wounded ego are nothing compared to the suffering you and your people have endured. I admit I have been sheltered for much of my life. I only ever knew slaves who sold themselves to escape poverty. The ugly side of things was something I was never exposed to…and perhaps it became easier to simply pretend it was an anomaly. Something that had nothing to do with me.”

“It’s all ugly,” Finn said, his voice gentle but firm. “The choice shouldn’t be between starving to death in an alienage or selling yourself and losing your freedom.”

He thought back to his visit to Val Royeaux with a scowl. “There are people rich enough to have gold literally covering their walls. You can’t tell me they can’t afford to give money to help someone out of the goodness of their heart. Or even give them a job while taking some wages for food and shelter until they get back on their feet. Sera’s told me a lot about the friends associated with Red Jenny, and most of them were either born poor or lost everything due to something like an illness. It’s not right. The people who can afford to buy someone as a slave can definitely afford to help that same person without taking their freedom. It’s a choice.”

Dorian honestly didn’t have a rebuttal for that. “It…really is, isn’t it?” He flashed a wry smile. “Perhaps, I should speak more with Sera.”

“You should,” Finn encouraged. “She said she thinks you’re fun. I can see you getting along, as long as your opinions on slavery have really changed.”

“I have been both enlightened and humbled these past few days,” Dorian admitted. “I realize that there is much I need to learn, and more still I need to unlearn. I do love my homeland, but…it has also done unspeakable things. Unforgivable things. Ignoring and making light of them won’t make that untrue.”

He inclined his head. “So, yes. My opinions have indeed changed. I’m a bit ashamed that it took a falling out with you and a tongue lashing from Varric to make it so.”

At this, Finn actually smiled. “You talked to Varric?”

“He didn’t give me much choice. Apparently, I had the aura of a stormcloud,” Dorian chuckled before sobering again. “I…understand if you wish to keep your distance from me after this. But I want to reiterate that I am sorry about what I said, and I do intend to work to better myself and learn more, even if such lessons are unpleasant. Regardless, I will do everything I can to help close the Breach and kill any demons that spill from it. You have my word.”

Finn looked into Dorian’s dark eyes, searching for any sign of deceit. He saw only earnestness, shame, and a trace of hope. “Okay,” he said. “I forgive you.”

Dorian blinked. “I-really? Just like that?”

Finn nodded. “I think you’re a good person at heart, and I feel like we could become friends. I don’t want to throw that away because you said one bad thing. So, if you really mean it about wanting to be better, I’m not going to stay angry.” He grinned a little sheepishly. “Besides, I’m terrible at being mad at people. It’s exhausting. Also, you did save me from being totally erased from time itself, so…”

He trailed off with a shrug. “Anyway, I think you deserve another chance.”

“You…” Dorian shook his head slowly, his expression melting into a bemused smile. “You are quite extraordinary, do you know that?”

“I- huh?” Finn’s ears twitched in surprise, his cheeks warming. “I’m not- I mean, I’m just- just being here. With this thing.” He waved his Marked hand vaguely. “That’s all.”

“Hm…” Dorian quirked a brow, his smile remaining steadfast. “In any case, I think I’ve had my fill of serious topics for the day.”

“Agreed!” Finn glanced over his shoulder. “You know, Sera should be at the tavern now. Want to go there for a drink? It’s much warmer.”

Dorian hesitated. “Can you guarantee no one will spit in my glass?”

“They’d better not!” Finn gasped. “That’s just rude! And unprofessional!” He frowned. “Wait, do people actually do that?!”

“Oh, you sweet summer child,” Dorian sighed, patting his shoulder. “I suppose I’ll just rely on your lovely company to act as my shield, yes?”

As they passed Solas, Finn paused. “Do you want to join us?”

“Not today, lethallin. I will likely turn in early,” Solas said. His expression was unreadable as he glanced at Dorian. “Perhaps another time.” He nodded curtly before walking toward his tent.

“Can’t win them all, I suppose,” Dorian muttered.

“Well, he is pretty tired with all the work he’s doing,” Finn pointed out. “I know he was listening, so hopefully you’ll be able to get along now.” He certainly hoped that would be the case, but he knew better than to try and talk Solas into it.

The two continued toward the tavern, ignoring the hissing whispers that followed them whenever they passed one of the townsfolk or Chantry sisters. There was a brief hush when they entered, though the bard mercifully kept on singing without a hiccup.

Sera perked up from her spot in the corner. “Oy, Finn! Get over here! And you brought Dorian too! It’s a friggin’ party now!” She raised her tankard as she waved Flissa. “Two more for the boys,” she ordered.

“Thank you,” Finn added to the departing human before sitting down.

“Get this,” Sera said without preamble. “That creepy-arse bard over there wrote a song about me. Me! That’s weird, right?”

“Aw, maybe she likes you,” Finn said with a wink.

“It ain’t that kinda song!” Sera insisted.

“Well, it’s impossible to tell what kind of song it is without hearing it,” Dorian pointed out, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Perhaps I should request it.” He turned his head toward Maryden.

“Don’t you dare!” Sera yelped, practically leaping across the table to cover his mouth. “Nope! Gotcha!”

Finn let out a startled squeak as he pushed his chair back to dodge Sera, though he burst out laughing at the sight of her trying to stop Dorian from speaking while he batted her away with his staff. “Hey, Maryden! I have a reque-” Finn shouted.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Sera spun around and bolted toward Finn, who snickered as he ducked under the table.

“Hey!” Flissa snapped as she slammed two tankards on the table. “No roughhousing in my tavern!”

Finn peeked out from under the table. “Sorry, Flissa. Thanks for the ale.” He couldn’t quite banish the cheery twinkle in his eyes, even as he sat back down and tried to look contrite.

“Sheesh, can’t bring you boys anywhere,” Sera snorted, as if she hadn’t been the one attacking the other two.

“I’m afraid not,” Dorian sighed loudly. “I’m quite the menace, especially when left unsupervised.”

“Bet!” Sera sat back in her chair. “So, did Finn tell you about those batshit weirdos who were holed up in Winterwatch?”

“I haven’t heard anything about your trip yet. Do tell.” Dorian grabbed one of the tankards and took a sip, trying not to grimace too hard at the watered down, bitter taste of the brew.

Finn idly drank his ale, listening as Sera launched into an exaggerated retelling of their trip to Winterwatch, the cult, and the rift that was sealed. He watched as Dorian’s tense muscles relaxed slowly, and glanced around the tavern as a whole, relieved to see that no one was shooting glares at their table anymore.

It would take time for everyone in the Inquisition to trust each other, and more still to reach true understanding with anyone. But Finn felt like he and Dorian had taken a major step in that direction. He hoped that the upcoming days would allow him to grow closer to everyone in what was becoming known as his Inner Circle. He hoped that they would all eventually become friends.

He hoped he wouldn’t lose them before or after the Breach was sealed.

Pushing that last worrying thought away, Finn allowed himself to relax and enjoy the rest of the evening.