Another

Gael waited outside the glistening white walls of the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux, green eyes squinting under the harsh glare of the sun blinking off the stone. Hood pulled over his delicate features and pointed ears, Gael blended into the crowd of Andraste's devout, kicking a stone up and down with the toe of his boot like a hacky sack. As waited for Cassandra to finish offering her prayers to the Maker, Gael kept sighing and glancing at the doors, no sign of the Seeker's shortly cropped hair appearing from behind them.

Gael was not Andrastian, though he did not denounce those of the faith, despite there being those that did that very thing to him. Cassandra had clasped him on the shoulder gratefully when he mentioned that they should stop by Val Royeaux on their way back from an expedition, saying that it had been a while since Cassandra had been back there. In times so wrought with peril, Gael did not discriminate with faith and hope, for there was a drought in both. From faith came hope, and from hope came strength. Against a force such as Corypheus, strength was the beating heart that held them together. Even Dorian, who was never overly religious, had wanted to take a tour of the Cathedral in all its grandeur, though its size was, in Dorian's words, 'about the size of my great grand-aunt's lavatory.' Cassandra had kicked the soft back of his knees, sending him kneeling in a prayer position on the ground.

But now, standing in the blistering sun for almost an hour straight, Gael was beginning to regret his selflessness. He had already walked a round of the city's main courtyard, popping in and out of the colourful shops that lined its borders to pass the time. Varric, who had accompanied them, had no interest in praying in the Cathedral and instead wandered around the shops, his interest finally piqued in a parchment and quill shop. Gael had left him there and continued to wander the shops alone, buying a few tonic recipes from an alchemist and some rare herbs. After getting pounded by eager shopkeepers and even more eager conmen, Gael had sighed in defeat and bought an overpriced sweet drink from a vendor and tiredly sipped it as he waited. 

When Gael had watched Dorian step through the Cathedral doors, cutting the image of a regal statue that was carved to be admired from afar, Gael's heart only dropped and shattered at his feet. Gael found himself staring at Dorian's back often, drilling into the slops of his back muscles and the fine lining of dark hair at his neck. He found that the man was always walking away from him, and in his mind he would chant at him to turn around. To notice him. To hold him.

But Gael knew that he was not the person at the end of Dorian's gaze. No, not someone like him, but someone like Alaric.

Drink now thoroughly depleted and its sticky residue making his lips tacky and smelling of rich berries, Gael decided to wander around for a while longer. As he made his way towards the main market, he was stopped by a large, warm hand tugging on his shoulder. The familiar smell of mountains and streams wafted into his nose, and Gael immediately turned his head, a tight smile on his lips.

"Finished talking to your Maker, Dorian?" Gael asked, his voice steady with forced calm. 

"Oh, yes, quite done," Dorian said, grinning with a flash of his white teeth, though the motion did not reach his eyes. "Conversation was, as aways, quite tedious, since He doesn't talk a lot himself. Oh, saw some lovely portraits of past False Divines. So much grey, so many wrinkles." Dorian scrunched up his nose, and Gael couldn't help but snort at his comments. 

"Don't let Cassandra catch you saying that," Gael warned, nudging Dorian's side with his elbow.

"You won't tell her, will you? It is our little secret?" Dorian said, voice light and airy, with a little edge. Gael's heart fluttered, his head cocking to the side.

"Mm. Our secret." With Gael's reply, Dorian's stiff smile softened, and he clapped Gael's back solidly. Gael gulped when Dorian's fingers brushed the small of his back, his taps a little lower than normal. However, his hands were soon gone, and Gael was left wondering if he was a little too wary of Dorian's touch. It was simply the touch of a friend, at least, on Dorian's side. The two had been locked in some sort of strange stalemate in recent days; they talked and bantered, and read tomes together and shared meals, but the air between them was so stiff and dense someone could cut it with a blade.

"So, where are we heading off to? Liquor store? Orlesian Bakery? I saw some peculiar pastries in the shop window. Looked like despair, so fascinating."

"Oh, I've tried those," Gael said, face immediately paling. Dorian raised a brow, urging him for his review. "Not only did they look like despair, they tasted like it too." Gael noticeably shivered at the memory, his saliva immediately ceasing to flow as his body lost its appetite.

"No Orlesian Bakery then. Duly noted," Dorian said, shivering at the thought of the pastry that would make the mighty Inquisitor tremble at the very mention of its name. Forget Corypheus and demons, Orlesian biscuits were the true Blight in this world.

"I've visited every store in the marketplace, and the crowds are overwhelming. I'd like to take a walk down some of the side streets. Josie has told me that there are some hidden shops there that are worthy of taking a look at." Gael paused, looking up tentatively at Dorian through his hood. "If you don't mind, of course."

Dorian just shook his head, nodding. "Lead the way, Inquisitor." The formal address felt sour on Dorian's tongue, though Gael did not react to it abnormally. The term implied a distance between them, and pulled Gael to a place that Dorian felt he could not reach. A place the he could not even touch.

When they reached the side streets, with so few people around Gael let his hood fall from his head, letting out a relieved sigh as he felt the breeze run through his hair and caress his cheek. Dorian trailed behind him, standing close and yet far at the same time; just a hand's width away, but unable to stand beside him. Gael, his hair only half tied up and his shirt sleeves rolled and collar open, looked a picture of temptation. The shadows in the alleyway did not hide his features, but instead brought them to the surface. The darkness was in contrast to the snowy white of his skin, and highlighted the sharpness of his delicate features that were turned away from the Tevinter mage. He was everything Dorian wanted wrapped up in a beautiful, little package, and yet the gift was not for him to unwrap. The bow around him did not brandish his name, but Eilhana's.

By the time the pair had reached a shop to walk into, they had frowns on their faces, though neither knew the reason for the other's. The polite, restrained talking continued when they walked through the store door, a little bell at its head chiming in a high pitch as they passed. The middle-aged shopkeeper with warm, richly pigmented skin did not acknowledge their presence, merely pushing his round-framed glasses up his high nose bridge as he flipped through a book. In front and to the sides of the man were numerous glass cases which housed glimmering jewellery and accessories, as well as a few gaudy weapons that were likely more for ceremonial purposes than actual battle.

"Hm, for such an obscure shop, there are some nice pieces in here," Dorian mused, hand on his chin as he surveyed the store's contents briefly through sharp eyes. "Some things are, well, quite obviously Orlesian, but there are some classy things here." Dorian immediately walked over to the salesman, pointing to an extremely glitzy belt. The shopkeeper just sighed, as if getting out the belt was the biggest inconvenience of his life. Gael just watched Dorian, half in amusement at the way his eyes lit up at the sight of so many shiny things, but also with a hint of sadness. The Tevinter mage was used to these glamorous, classy things, but he himself had no knowledge of that world. He was rock and dirt and streams; Dorian was marble, silk and fine wine.

Tearing his eyes away from Dorian, Gael walked over to a cabinet on the far side and looked in at an array of necklaces on display. Some were far too elaborate for someone like him, who preferred the beauty of simplicity, but one item immediately captured his attention. Its chain was crafted of sleek, radiant silver and looked light as it coiled around on a display bust, its curves weighted by the radiant pendant at its centre. The raw stone, shiny but uncut and in its natural perfection was an odd silvery-grey that glimmered under the sunlight filtering through the window. Though the colour was cool, the image of the stone filled Gael with warmth, because the first thing he thought of when he laid eyes on them was that they were like the shade of Dorian's eyes. 

Gently reaching into the case, Gael raised the surprisingly weighty pendant in his fingers, the rock swinging like a pendulum. 

This would look good on Dorian.

The thought made Gael let out a quiet, bitter snort, his hands lowering the pendant back down. His motion stopped, however, when Dorian sauntered up to him, peering over his shoulder.

"Found something you like, Inquisitor?" Dorian asked, curious as to what has caught Gael's interest, for he usually did not care for gaudy items like jewellery and the like. Dorian's mouth pulled down in a frown under his moustache when he saw Gael softly holding a pretty pendant, something that he was clearly not looking at to purchase for himself, but for another.

Eilhana.

Dorian felt something vile churn in his gut, but he swallowed it down as it threatened to spill from his mouth, and instead tugged at his lips to smile.

"It is pretty. Eilhana would like it," Dorian said, voice a little icy. Gael immediately blinked, before turning to him in confusion.

"Eilhana?" Gael asked, brow creasing, looking at Dorian was such blatant incomprehension. Dorian's frown deepened, and his fists clenched at his sides, the vile feeling bubbling at the surface. Unable to swallow the bitterness down, Dorian spat out his words.

"Yes, Eilhana. What, did you not hear me from down there? Stop giving me that dull look, it's a gift for her, correct? For your woman."

Several emotions flickered in Gael's forest eyes; confusion, anger, and shock. Gael ignored Dorian's quip about his height, only his final words echoing in his head.

"My woman?" Gael thought, mind whirling. "Eilhana?! When did Eilhana become my woman?! She's like a-"

"Sister!" Gael blurted out, but mind and mouth out of sync in his mad confusion. "Eilhana is like a sister to me! Where did you get such incredulous ideas?!"

"Incredulous?" Dorian said, voice low and seething, his grey eyes hard. "I saw the two of you at Skyhold, hugging and touching, always hand-in-hand. She also stayed in your chambers, and your bed. What is incredulous about it? A man and a woman in such a position, there is nothing incredulous about it!"

"Wha-" Gael spluttered, cheeks flaming from both embarrassment and anger, the mere ideas Dorian was suggesting making him feel sick. "She is a sister to me, Dorian! Just the thought of... the things you are implying are sickening! Take it back!"

"Hmph, no need to be so defensive about it, Inquisitor," Dorian said, knuckles white and nails digging into his palm. "Even if you engage in such activities, your reputation has not been tarnished."

"S-such activities?!" Gael stammered, heat flooding him. "I-If you're talking about s-such activities, talk about yourself and Alaric! Josephine arranged chambers for him, and yet I heard he only emerged from your own room in the late hours of the morning!"

This time, it was Dorian's turn to be flabbergasted. 

"Alaric?"  Dorian's inner voice was confused, and the anger on his face immediately dissipated as he looked at Gael, mouth open in silence. The only time Dorian remembered Alaric even being in his chambers was when Alaric had too much to drink at the tavern, and Dorian, in his higher level of sobriety, had dragged him back there since it was closer than the guest quarters. Alaric had all but passed out by the time they reached his room, and he had left the man to sleep on the rug with a towel as a blanket! Alaric had, in his drunken state, blabbed to Dorian about how such an elf was very much his type; a little forest minx that he wanted to sink his teeth into, and Dorian had vented his anger by letting Alaric use the cold stone floors as a mattress. 

"There is nothing between me and Alaric, that is absurd," Dorian said flatly, momentarily repulsed by the idea. Gael, however, just let out a dry laugh, his white hair shaking. 

"Do not take me as a fool, Dorian. It is as obvious as the day that you have a relationship with that man. Do not worry, he is quite the looker, and obviously well-off. A good catch."

Dorian flinched at Gael's unyielding stare, the burning in them making his throat go dry. Dorian opened his mouth, the choking sensation in his throat making him feel the need to cough out some sort of explanation. 

"Alaric and I did have... something, before, but that's just it. We had something. Past tense. It was just one time, we were both drunk after a ball, and it just happened. We both knew there was nothing else there, and we have simply remained good friends afterwards. And he's not even the one I l-" The air in Dorian's lungs left him as his eyes widened, the dangerous word on the tip of his tongue shocking him into silence. Gael just looked at him, the fiery anger in his eyes morphing into a heartbreaking, resigned sadness. The elf's voice was soft as he spoke, his body turning away from Dorian as he gently placed the necklace that had long been forgotten in his hands back to the case. The shopkeeper had been watching the two with steady eyes, though when Gael closed the glass case he dropped his eyes and grew, once again, disinterested in the two customers.

"Dorian," Gael said, the distance in his voice chilling Dorian to the bone. Gael's eyes which had held his suddenly dropped to the floor, the elf biting his bottom lip, which quivered slightly. After a moment's pause, Gael loosed a shaky breath and continued, his hair falling over his hung face.

"Dorian..." Gael started again, words carefully plucked from his heart. "This... thing between us. The flirting, I guess some would say. Were you serious?"

Dorian was silent as Gael's words rammed into him, plainly stripping away the layers of ignorance the two had cloaked their relationship in for months with his few words. Dorian thought about Gael's question for a long, long moment, but the elf did not make a move to hurry him. 

At first, Dorian had not been serious; it had all been a bit of fun to tease the Herald, whose pointed ears could never hide a blush. Whether it was flirting, or making a half-hearted, joking comment about his height, Dorian had only done it to elicit a response from the elf, a response that made the Dorian giddy and undeniably intrigued. When that fun turned into something serious, Dorian did not know. Maybe it was sometime on their many expeditions together, when they shared their cramped tent with their bodies crammed in side by side. Maybe it was after Adamant, when Dorian realised that living in a world without the elf would not really be living. But maybe it has always been there, that feeling of wanting to be in his gaze, to be in his thoughts, and to be in his every living breath. For the first time in his life, Dorian had been serious. In every joking quip, every sideways glance, every hidden smile, Dorian's heart had been oozing out, until there was nothing left for Gael to take.

With that, Dorian could only answer with one word.

"Yes."

Gael's head rose then, his face still neutral but with eyes shining like glass. Dorian gulped when Gael's mouth remained closed, not saying anything as he just looked at Dorian with strange eyes. Gael's silence made Dorian's heart thunder with anxiety, and he had to break the silence, and confirm something that had been unsettling him for nights on end.

"And you, Gael. Were you serious?" Dorian asked, his voice a little too raw, and a little too honest.

Gael did not say anything, but a crystal tear slipped from the side of his eye as he sprung forward, leaping up to entwine his slender arms around Dorian's neck. It only took one second for Gael's soft, sugar-tasting lips to press to Dorian's, the movement clunky and inexperienced but nonetheless breath-stealing.

Frozen in spot, Gael hung from Dorian's neck, until the Tevinter mage finally grew a mind and wrapped his arms around the elf's taut waist, pulling him closer. With his head dipped, Dorian kissed Gael back wholeheartedly, his body weightless and his spirit aflame.

In all the haze and passion, Dorian could not help but notice one thing, making him smile against the Inquisitor's plush lips.

Ah... this height difference does not make kissing him bad at all. 

In fact, it only makes his kiss sweeter.

A/N: Aaaaaand this was a longer chapter than usual, but they finally wisened up and revealed their feelings to each other! Varric would be so proud (and pleased with the new material for the next chapter of Inquisit Me!). Honestly, I was thinking of ending this story/collection of Pavellan moments when the two of them got together, but I'm a little too attached to these boys, so I think I'll write one or two chapters more! Other than that, thanks so much for reading this story thus far - I'm always so shocked and grateful when people actually click on this story. Means the world to me! :)