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Soulmarks were Not Spoken Of among Tevinter nobility. Which meant, of course, everyone discussed them in hushed voices in quiet corners, showing one another's with all the fervent secrecy of young children curious about the contents of other's drawers.
But Dorian was even more cagey than most about his. It was in an intimate enough location that rarely anyone was in a position to see it, and even those that were often didn't notice due to the dark or their half-dressed states.
He sat in the bath, idly running his hand over the neat black letters that adorned the line of his inner thigh. They were not in Trade, Tevene, Antivan, Orlesian, Dwarven, Elvish, or any language he could identify, which had left Dorian with two possibilities. Either his soulmate was some wild Fereldan barbarian, like an Avvar or Chasind (whose languages were completely foreign to even Tevinter's knowledge), or his soulmate was a Qunari (whose language was forbidden in Tevinter).
He sighed and leaned back against the cool tiles of the floor. He had already resigned himself to a life of being a pariah for his political and personal views, but somehow this felt like too much. Felix poked his head into the soaking room, keeping his eyes politely averted. "Almost finished, Dorian? My mother and I are leaving soon."
"Give me just a moment, I'll come and say my goodbyes," Dorian said, smiling at Felix as he darted away.
+++
In the Inquisition, there were no private baths. And yet somehow, Dorian often found himself bathing alone. Being a pariah had its perks. It was hardly as comfortable as his bath in the Alexius estate, but he couldn't complain.
He had begun to come around on the idea that the Inquisition was led by a Qunari. Indeed, Adaar had proven himself quite capable, both martially and diplomatically. And he's handsome, Dorian noted idly, smiling as he thought of those broad shoulders and the curve of his ass. His face wasn't half-bad either, if a bit boyish. The Inquisitor was younger than Dorian by a fair bit, but Dorian suspected he'd mature into quite a sight. (And he was kind and flirted with a gentle sincerity that made Dorian a bit weak in the knees, but that led to imagining an impossible dream.)
Lost in his thoughts, Dorian didn't notice the Iron Bull enter at first, startling when he heard the splash of the big Qunari entering the pool. "Hey, Vint," he said conversationally.
"Bull," Dorian returned dryly. "Wanted an eyeful?"
Bull smirked. "If I wanted to watch you preen, I'd follow Adaar to the library. Do you think he's noticed the blatant flirting, or no?"
Dorian sniffed. "I suppose you and Varric have a bet?"
Bull chuckled and dunked his head, scrubbing his fingers over his scalp and behind his ears. "We might," he answered, as rivulets of water trailed down his chin.
Dorian rubbed his thigh, casting his eyes away in thought. "Say, Bull, could I ask you a favor?"
"Sure, what do you need?"
He hesitated. "Do Qunari have soulmarks?"
"Sure. We call them and our mates Asadan. Though finding an Asadan is tricky, since Qunari don't have fixed names, and Qunari don't see our mates as romantic, but rather as our strongest partners in general. Why?"
Dorian chewed his lip, hesitating before he said, "I can't read mine. I was hoping you could tell me if it was Qunari."
"Sure, where is it?"
With a scowl, his face unnecessarily hot, Dorian hopped out of the tub and opened his legs, pointing to his thigh.
Bull laughed, the asshole. "Damn, Vint, that's a hell of a place. Even a Qunari would have trouble saying that's not romantic!" But he waded over to take a look, squinting his good eye to better see. Then, he laughed more and made his way back to his seat. "It's in the Qunlat script alright," he confirmed, "but only one of those names is actual Qunlat. The other is just a transliteration."
"There's two names?" He looked down at it. There was a space, but he'd always assumed one was a family name.
"Yeah, but I don't think it's two people." He grinned. "In fact, I know exactly who it is."
Dorian's breath caught. "You do? Care to share?"
Bull raised an eyebrow. "Dorian, do you know the Boss's first name?"
And question asked, Bull gave his face one more scrub and climbed out of the tub, leaving Dorian's thoughts reeling.
+++
As Dorian watched the Inquisitor down in the training yard, he tried to wonder how to bring it up. Adaar flirted, yes, as did Dorian, but this… He brushed his thighs together, the mark seeming to itch under his trousers. Did Adaar know? Is that why he'd started this flirtation, the gentle caresses and kisses in the safety of his chambers? But if that were the case, wouldn't Adaar have brought it up by now?
He frowned, wondering how soulmarks even worked really. Was it possible for one person to have it and another to not? What if Adaar bore someone else's name? Or perhaps none at all? He cursed his lack of knowledge; a jumbled mess of rumors and half-remembered whispers.
Dorian watched as a messenger jogged across the courtyard, waving to catch the Inquisitor's attention. He was vaguely attractive, Dorian noted dully. As he took the offered package, Adaar gave him a beaming smile that made Dorian's stomach clench. He leaned back off the rampart wall and retreated inside, feeling heavy.
It was a mistake. Bull was teasing him. Perhaps the words really were Qunlat—he could look that up on his own—but Adaar didn't belong to him. It wasn't allowed. (And he didn't want to be Adaar's either, he told himself. People would talk about the corrupting magister and the hapless Inquisitor. It was bad optics; regardless of how green Adaar's eyes were.)
He searched through the books, seeking one on Qunari that would explain to him the intricacies of their script, or, barring that, one on the soulmarks themselves. So absorbed in his search, he didn't hear the whisper-soft footsteps behind him, and yelped unattractively as large hands encircled his waist.
He whipped around, glaring into Adaar's sniggering face. "How rude," he sniffed, pulling away to lean casually against the shelf. "Can I help you, if you're done playing at adolescence?"
"I have a gift for you," Adaar said, his eyes twinkling with such brightness that Dorian had to look away. Adaar reached into a pouch at his waist and retrieved a golden chain, from which hung something Dorian didn't think he'd ever see again.
He gaped as Adaar placed it into his waiting hands. "This is my amulet," he said in shock. "I…" Thoughts warred in Dorian's head. Gratitude. Anger at having his problems solved so easily by someone else. And a sickening twist to his stomach as his heart thudded with something that could only be love.
Deflect. Defend. He wrapped himself in the anger to drown out the love, even if it seeped out anyway. "I don't care what they think about me," he said fiercely. "I care what they think about us."
Adaar frowned. "I didn't know that was such a concern for you, Dorian," he said. "People are going to find fault with me regardless of what I do or don't do." He gestured to his horns. "So let me do this for you." He reached forward and closed Dorian's hands around his birthright. "If for no other reason than I know it makes you happy."
Dorian's heart thudded painfully in his chest. Kaffas, Adaar didn't know how those words made him feel. No one in Dorian's life had given two figs about his happiness. Sure, the Alexiuses cared about him, maybe even had considered him family once, but he had always been something—a son, a secret, a student, a comrade. Whatever this was with Adaar… it was something else entirely. "I'll repay you," he insisted, stubbornly.
Adaar smiled as he leaned down, his face inches away from Dorian's. "I have no doubt."
Adaar's kiss was a sunny day, when there was nothing to be done. Dorian fell into those kisses like a cat stretched out across a warm stone wall. It was like life was gently wiped away for a few minutes, leaving only that warmth.
When they broke apart, life rushed back, and the Tranquil was watching them. "Inquisitor," she said dully, her voice making Dorian's blood turn to ice. "When you have a moment, I must speak with you."
Adaar grinned out his discomfort before he turned to her. "Of course, Helisma. I'll be just a moment." He pecked Dorian on the cheek. "Duty calls."
Dorian stopped him with a hand on his forearm. "Come to your quarters later. There will be a surprise waiting." He smirked.
Adaar grinned wider. "Yes, ser."
+++
As Dorian walked up the flights and flights of stairs to the Inquisitor's chambers, he practiced what he'd say. If Adaar just wanted this to be casual, then… Then…
He tapped his head against the Inquisitor's door, sighing. Then he'd just have to suck it up and accept that the Bull was full of shit.
He opened the door. Adaar had already arrived, looking over the papers on his desk. Dorian admired the curve of his shoulders and ass for a moment before making his presence known with a soft cough.
Adaar's smile was radiant.
It didn't take them long to strip most of their clothing, Adaar only in his pants, which came to his knees to combat the cold, and Dorian only in his trousers, their kisses long and languid, hands wandering. As Adaar moved to unhook Dorian's belt, Dorian bit his lip and reached down, stopping them.
Immediately, Adaar fell back onto his knees. "What's wrong? Did I misunderstand?"
"No, no, you understood perfectly." Dorian ran his hand nervously over his neck, where Adaar had undoubted sucked a magnificent bruise. "I. I have a soulmark." He tapped his thigh. "I just wanted you to know that."
Adaar nodded. "I do as well, but I can't read it so." He shrugged. "I don't care about a person I may never meet, Dorian. I care about you." He nuzzled against Dorian's cheek, hands slowly creeping back to his belt.
This time, Dorian let him.
As the trousers were rolled down, Adaar kissed the skin revealed. However, when he nibbled along the inside of Dorian's thigh, he paused, sitting up. Dorian's heart stuttered. Oh no, Vashoth Adaar may be, but he probably could still read Qunlat. He closed his eyes, afraid to look.
"Dorian," Adaar said softly. "This is my name."
He opened his eyes, suddenly breathless. "Is it?"
"Yes. The way my parents write it." He stroked his fingers over the neat, black text. After a moment, he stood and removed the rest of his clothing, dumping them onto the floor and sitting back on the bed. He spread his legs, tugging on the skin of his thigh to pull his own mark into view. "Is… this yours?"
Heart in his throat (keeping his gaze off the, ahem, significant manhood that had been revealed), Dorian rose to his knees and crawled over. It didn't take long to recognize it though. In the elegant, sprawling cursive of traditional Tevene was written "Dorian, son of Halward, of House Pavus", just as it was written on his birth certificate, locked away in the Minrathous Archives. "Yes," Dorian breathed.
For a long moment, they sat in silence.
It was broken by Adaar's laughter. "Did we both end up with soulmarks we couldn't read and still end up finding each other? That…" He grinned at Dorian, his spring green eyes glittering. "That's the Maker's hand, that is. No doubt about it." With a smirk, he placed his marked hand over Dorian's mark. Green light glowed from beneath his palm. "See? The Maker's hand."
Dorian covered his face so Adaar wouldn't get the satisfaction of seeing him laugh at something so atrocious. "You know, I don't think that's what people mean when they say that."
Adaar chuckled and brought his lips to Dorian's. "Well," he said softly, pulling away. "Well, well. Here we are, two new soulmates, already mostly undressed. What ever shall we do?"
That Dorian didn't mind chuckling at. "Indeed. I have some ideas, and I'm open to new ones." He allowed his hands to wander, drawing a gasp from Adaar. "But first, what is your given name?"
"Bernart, but please, call me Bern." He liked his lips. "So, Dorian of House Pavus, how would you like me?"
Dorian wanted him in a great many ways, and found in Adaa—Bern a very enthusiastic partner. Even when plans went awry, mostly do to unexpected height differences, they met each other halfway, experimenting, learning each other.
As they lay in the bed, moonlight shimmering through the open windows, Dorian was content. They were soulmates. No matter what, they were meant to be together. Matching marks meant that Dorian wasn't broken, or twisted. Or, even if he were, there was someone else twisted in just that same way.
His worries and anxieties were still there, of course. Plenty of people defied their marks for political reasons—most alti did, really. But it helped, having evidence. Even if they did part ways some day, Dorian had met his soulmate, had loved his soulmate.
He settled into the warm, broad chest beneath him and smiled as Adaar's hand carded through his hair.