fadewalk | Dorian (dorianpavus-fadewalk)

As spells went, this one didn't seem so bad. Being teleported away seemed much nicer than being set on fire. Though considering his luck, he'd been teleported here just to be set on fire the good old-fashioned way.

"All right," Taran said, slowly standing. "Positive thoughts. This isn't going to end horribly or anything."

He checked his weapon and slipped the journal into his pouch after only a cursory glance through it. He planned to take a much closer look soon, but his number one priority was getting out of the jail. Assuming he could.

Was this Redcliffe? It seemed weirdly...open and expansive for Redcliffe.

Taran gave the door a little push, relieved when it opened right away. His footsteps sounded loud to his ears, echoing as he made his way out of the cell. He looked around him curiously, moving out toward a huge, gorgeous grand hall. It was absolutely massive in scope, statues lining the wall, ceilings arching high overhead, soft light streaming through stained glass.

He turned slowly, almost forgetting Alexius and the spell in his amazement. Maker, it was beautiful. "Wow," he murmured, not caring that he sounded like the backcountry (lordling) yokel he was. "Just...wow."

And then the door at the far end of the hall pushed open and Taran was whirling around, sword unsheathed and shield raised in a single fluid motion. He tensed, ready for whatever came through...then lowered his sword in frank astonishment at who...or what, considering...he saw.

"You," Tara sputtered. "I know you."

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"We aren't physically in the Fade either," Taran said, studying the sky. "I don't remember much of it, but this is not like what I do remember of being there."

Dorian looked down to watch Taran's profile, finding that sight far more arresting than the strange turbulent sky. He couldn't quite help the wistful smile that flickered onto his lips. Of course he'd been physically in the Fade before. Eldritch magics, the Herald of Andraste, thrown out of reality altogether by Alexius' assassination attempt!

"What a wonder you are."

Taran looked over, lips parted on a retort...then lost the words, eyes locking with Dorian's. A deep flush began to spread along his cheeks, up to make his ears go cherry red.

He bit his lower lip.

The intensity of Taran's flush caught Dorian out, and he found himself blushing as well, not as deeply, and his darker skin hid some of it, but it was definitely there. He had also taken a step closer without meaning to. Fasta vass, this was maddening.

He flashed what he hoped was an easy smile, eyebrows lifting. "What you hadn't noticed how simply extraordinary your story is? Magical glowing hand, physical trips to the Fade, the Maker's chosen? It's quite marvelous." He took a few steps down, trying to slow his racing heart. "And now, you've met me. You are lucky."

"Well. Mostly I've been focused on surviving and trying to get people to stop calling me the Herald," he admitted, tripping along behind Dorian as if they had been tied together with string. He fell into step next to him, watching him out of the corner of his eyes. "Who are you? Not that I don't feel lucky. I do. But-- Just--"

There was something about him.

"You'd think eventually I'd get used to extraordinary people dropping into my weird life."

"They must fall out of trees like apples if there's enough of them to get used to."

Dorian stopped on the first landing of the open staircase, turning to look back up at the central building, then flicking a gaze along the the walls and ramparts. "What do you know about mages? Have you learned anything from your Chantry and their appalling prisons masquerading as Circles?"

Was he really going to do this now? He didn't have the words. What if Taran had been poisoned against mages, the very idea of Voices, the way the Southern Chantry wished it? Or perhaps he'd heard the tales of Tevinter magisters and their collared pets, bound and bled?

"Sure," he said. "Though I don't believe much of what the Chantry told me, either about mages or, you know. The Maker. I actually learned more from the apostates. Ah," he added, rubbing the back of his neck. "That is. I used to be part of a line of safehouses for mages running from the Circle. The Starkhaven and Kirkwall Circles are particularly bad, so..."

He gave a vague gesture. His father had been completely in the dark. Taran and his sisters were the only ones who knew what the gardening shed was really used for.

"I heard quite a few stories there."

Dorian had only ever caught glimpses and glances at Taran's life. Only what he dreamed about, and it hadn't always made sense. But this slotted a few things into place for him, some of the dreams about that gardening shed for example.

It also melted what was left of his heart and jerked a tiny sigh out of him.

What a mess he was! No control at all and it was appalling. He was sighing like a lovelorn schoolboy, staring at Taran. A heroic smuggler of apostates. Maker save him.

"Did you ever come across anyone who was looking for someone particular? A name they knew, or a place they had to go? An apostate looking for the man of her dreams, as it were?" His mustache twitched as he smiled, forcing lightness into his question.

"Oh," Taran said, surprised. "Are you talking about Voices?"

That startled a laugh out of Dorian. "And you were just going to let me bumble around like a fool, weren't you?" He tutted, shaking his head slowly. "Yes, Voices."

"Not possible," Taran assured him with a wide, earnest smile.

Then--because he may have been sheltered and a bit naive, but he was nothing if not incredibly clever--the smile began to change, morph into understanding. He looked at Dorian with a new kind of light, shock clear in his features. "Oh," he said. "Are you implying... Am I your Voice?"

Dorian's right hand came up to rest over on his chest as he nodded slowly, eyes searching Taran's face carefully, for fear or wariness or... anything really.

"Yes, that is what I'm altogether clumsily trying to express." He quirked an eyebrow, gave a small smirk. "I did say you were lucky." Not the most appropriate time for humor, but he needed to put some sort of buffer there in case Taran recoiled.

There was no fear or wariness--just surprise. "I... I."

Taran drew a shaky breath.

"This is a lot," he admitted. "I mean, scale of things that have happened to me lately, this falls just behind chosen of the Maker but ahead of glowy hand trick."

Dorian nodded, grey eyes careful in their study of Taran. He wet his lower lip and then took a breath. "Of course. I hadn't intended to-- well, to be perfectly honest I'd given up on the idea of you altogether until about twenty minutes ago. I should have chosen a better moment."

He took a breath, steadying himself and offering a smile that was more... gentle than flirtatious. "If you need space, I don't know how much this place has to offer, but all of it is yours."

Taran made a (mostly) faux-offended noise. "You gave up on me? I mean, I know I'm not sexy..." he flapped his hand at Dorian, "whatever you are, but I'm not completely hopeless. Drop me in a bath and put in some elbow grease and I should clean up decently."

The joking helped reorient his whirling mind. It was all...so much to take in.

He was a Voice.

He had a soulmate.

...he had a soulmate who was really incredibly wonderfully attractive and clever.

The joke tugged a soft chuckle out of Dorian even as he considered Taran, letting just a fraction of the warmth he felt looking at him show in his features. It was still very, very warm. "A little spit, a little polish, you'll do," he agreed.

Did he dare explain how he thought he'd lost Taran forever, the spiral that had sent him into? No, that was too much, entirely to foist onto the poor lad so soon. "The right shirt and people will notice you even standing next to me."

"You'll have to pick out the shirt," Taran said. "Otherwise they'll be noticing me for all the wrong reasons. Wait. Can it have sleeves? Also, can I kiss you? And how long have you been watching me? Did I ever do anything I won't be able to live down?"

The flurry of questions battered the smirk right off Dorian's face. He looked breathless in fact. "I'm sorry-- can you back up a bit. You want to kiss me?"

He shouldn't... no. But yes? If Taran wished it Dorian wouldn't be able to deny him. But given all of gravity of their situation it didn't merit attention. Kissing should be rather low on their list of priorites.

Funny how it was suddenly quite close to the top.

Taran bit his lower lip and looked down, a flush spreading across his cheeks. "I know, I should be focused on the problem," he said, as if Dorian had been scolding him the way Leliana or Josephine or Cassandra or Cullen might. "And I am. Or. I will. But you're here, and you're my soulmate, and Maker knows what's out there. If we're going to wander out there into possible danger, I want to at least kiss you first. ...if that's okay with you."

Dorian had been waiting to meet the young man before him for his entire life, literally. He'd been in love with him before he even knew for certain he did not fancy women in the slightest. Had defied his father with a child's solemn, foolish, reckless vow to keep him away from Tevinter and all that entailed. It had probably saved the rare, precious light he saw before him.

At Taran's words he felt like he could burst, his magic as unsettled as the rest of him. He swallowed hard, and then smiled, slow and sidelong. "If that's okay with me. The things you say."

Edited Date: 2015-08-19 02:34 am (UTC)

Taran looked up through his lashes, biting back a grin, then slowly--deliberately--stepped into Dorian's space.

Closer.

Closer still.

Close enough that their chests nearly brushed, their breaths hot on each others' lips. He reached up almost shyly to press a hand over Dorian's heart, fingers seeking out the thrum of its beat. His other hand lightly cupped his cheek and drew him in.

Taran breathed, tasting the kiss seconds before their lips met--soft and sweet and heartbreakingly perfect.

There had never been a moment more purely his in Dorian's life than the moment that Taran's hands drew him closer and Taran's lips found his.

He returned the kiss with a tender press, his own hand rising to rest at the nape of Taran's neck, finger combing so lightly into his hair there. He parted his lips a heartbeat before he pulled back just far enough to meet Taran's eyes. His fingers were trembling.

He pressed in with a low noise, chasing Dorian's mouth--not wanting the kiss to end. His lips were parted, breath serrated. "Dorian," he murmured, testing it out.

It felt good to say. Right.

"Yes, amatus?" Dorian leaned back in to kiss him again, eyes half-lidded. He was sweeter than any wine, and Dorian would lose himself twice as easily. He wasn't sure how to let Taran go even for a moment now that they were touching, now that their mouths were so perfectly pressed together. To think, boldly kissing the Herald of Andraste on the steps of a strange deserted castle in the Fade?

It was absurd enough to make Dorian chuckle breathlessly against Taran's mouth.

Taran lightly bit Dorian's lower lip at the laugh, grinning against his lips before brushing his tongue out to lick away the momentary sting. He hadn't done a lot in his fairly sheltered life, but kissing?

In the back end of nowhere, surrounded by a bunch of novices and initiates, there had been nothing to do but pray and kiss. Taran had gotten really, really good at one of the two.

"I like that," he murmured into Dorian's mouth. "Amatus."