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.