Chapter Text
A week before her parents were due to arrive at Skyhold, the initial excitement Belle Trevelyan had felt about seeing her family again had worn off, and the Inquisitor was once more in shambles.
Not that she wasn’t happy to see Richard and Amelia, but it was the stress and strain of both upcoming events and previous that had her mind in a tizzy. Given more time to think about her impulsive decision to accept an offer of marriage to Teyrn Allen's youngest son, she realized how ridiculous it truly was to throw away her life – and her freedom – on some stranger, and found herself realizing how much she actually did agree with Cullen on the matter. Could she really go through with it?
She also found herself thinking more and more about what she would say to Dorian when she finally confronted him. She still hadn’t spoken to him yet, and no doubt he had heard all about the upcoming visit from her parents, as well as her engagement. He was probably very cross that he had to hear it from the rumor mill, rather than from Belle directly. If he even cared. What did it matter to him if Belle decided to marry someone else, when he never had any romantic feelings for her in the first place?
She realized that she needed some sound advice on the subject, but since she was currently avoiding the one person she would normally go to for advice, she sought out another. Next to Dorian Pavus, her closest friend and confidante was Cassandra Pentaghast, the Seeker of Truth. She was one of the first friends Belle had made when she joined the Inquisition. Unbelievably, considering that she was quite certain Cassandra wanted to lop her head off when they first met.
But as time went on, the Seeker proved to be one of her greatest supporters and staunchest defenders. Even if she didn’t agree with a decision Belle made, she always stood by her, and always seemed to know the right thing to say to restore Belle’s confidence in herself. Thus the reason Belle found herself strolling past onlookers in the courtyard to find Cassandra at her usual spot by the armory, but instead of hacking away at a training dummy with her sword, the Seeker was casually reading.
In a shady spot of the courtyard, she sat cross-legged in the grass with a book splayed in her lap. Recently, Belle had learned of Cassandra’s secret affection for Varric’s romance serial titled Swords & Shields. It was a bit trashy for Belle’s taste, but the Inquisitor found it amusing that the normally stoic warrior should have a softer side. She told no one of this but Varric, who she’d begged to write another chapter for the Seeker, who suffered on the edge of her seat, waiting for an ending.
Cassandra snapped the book closed and glanced up in surprise at Belle’s approach. “Inquisitor!” she greeted, rising to her feet. “How are you? I feel as if we haven’t spoken in ages.”
It had only been a few days, but she’d been quite busy as of late, and time to chat in between missions was growing shorter and shorter as time went on. “I’m alright. And yourself?” she asked.
“As well as can be, I suppose,” Cassandra answered, shrugging an armored shoulder. “Was there something you needed?”
“Erm–Yes, actually,” Belle admitted. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
Cassandra nodded and set her book on a nearby bench, then gestured toward the steps that led up to the battlements above. Along the walkway, they found an unoccupied section near one of the watchtowers where they could speak more freely. Belle leaned against the outer wall, overlooking the incredible view of the snowy Frostback Mountains. Cassandra settled in next to her and let out a small sigh. "I have heard rumors," the Seeker told her. "Is that what this is about?"
"Yes, it is," Belle answered, picking at her gloves. Today she was wearing her favored outfit, that consisted of a brown leather vest over a cotton tunic, matching brown leather breeches and knee high leather boots. The gloves were soft and supple, but she was always picking at them, a nervous habit she'd acquired ever since she started wearing them. Before that, she would pick at the glowing scar on her left hand. "And I don't know what you may have heard, but some of it is true."
"The part that your family is coming to Skyhold?" Cassandra questioned.
Belle nodded. "Yes, and that's the part I'm excited about. I haven't seen them in ages. Not since the Mage-Templar war began. I'm really looking forward to seeing them again, and introducing them to everyone. But..."
"But?" Cassandra repeated.
Belle let out a frustrated sigh and admitted, "But... I may have done something very stupid recently, and I need your advice on the matter."
The Seeker lifted a brow. "I appreciate that you would come to me with your troubles, but would you not rather speak to Dorian?"
"I've...been avoiding Dorian recently," Belle sheepishly admitted. "Which is another thing I wanted to talk to you about. It sort of has to do with the stupid thing I did."
"Ah," Cassandra nodded. "Perhaps it would be best to start at the beginning then?"
Belle sucked in a breath and nodded fervently in agreement. Then she started from the beginning. She hated sounding like she was gossiping about Dorian's personal affairs, but given that they were so intrinsically tied to her own, she did divulge some details, though only enough to effectively explain her predicament. In short, she recounted the recent events in Redcliffe, the reason why she was avoiding Dorian, which led her to accept her parents' offer to arrange a match for her.
Cassandra's expression morphed throughout, her face changing from concerned, to aghast, to mortified at one point. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. That the Inquisitor could be so desperate to put her feelings for Dorian aside that she would actually accept a marriage proposal from a complete stranger? She was not angry like Cullen had been, but she was certainly perplexed. Though, perhaps her reaction was unique because Belle's explanation was different this time around.
She expected Cassandra to not understand, to be confused like Cullen was, but for different reasons, of course. Unlike the Commander, who grew up on a farm in Honnleath, Cassandra Pentaghast, of the Pentaghasts, was seventy-eighth in line for the Neverran throne. It was a far cry from truly being a princess, though Varric liked to call her that on occasion, but Cassandra was also raised with certain expectations. Only she rebelled against them. Stubbornly, Belle might add.
But the Seeker also understood duty and obligation. That some things were inevitable, and granting mages the privilege to exercise all rights and responsibilities of their noble peers meant the inevitable recourse of such expectations like arranged marriage to once more be foisted on them. Provided they were in support of this legislation, it would only have been a matter of time before Belle's family started pressuring her to get married and have children regardless, like every woman her age.
Cassandra might've been a warrior, and dedicated to her work as a Seeker, but she was still a woman, and one with a romantic heart, who could understand why Belle might be tempted to allow her family to match her with someone, if only to avoid the loneliness she felt. But to so readily agree, without question, or even meeting her betrothed first? That was a little foolish, in Cassandra's opinion, so she told her that. "Would it not have been wiser to at least agree to a meeting first?" she asked.
"Undoubtedly," Belle sighed. "But it's too late now, and they've already received my answer. I can't imagine there's any way to back out of it now without making a fool of myself. But it gets even worse, if you can believe it." Cassandra made a small 'oh?' So Belle continued. What she had to say next made the Seeker's jaw drop completely. "As I'm sure you can guess, the advisors don't exactly approve of my decision to marry, so Josephine though it a fine idea to meddle in my affairs.
She took the liberty of replying to some marriage proposals I apparently received from some of the Inquisition's allies, in both Orlais and Ferelden, telling every single one of them I would be most interested in arranging a match, and now they're all coming to Skyhold to compete for my hand! They're hosting a Grand Tourney right here at Skyhold! Can you believe it?! Of all the most ridiculous things! They expect me to put myself on display like some trophy and make a spectacle of myself!"
Cassandra scoffed. "Preposterous! I refuse to believe that Josephine, of all people, would have concocted such a devious plan."
"Believe it," Belle huffed. "I'm quite certain Cullen and Leliana are in on it, as well. I know why they're doing it, of course. They mean to sabotage my engagement, obviously. But I don't know what to do about it. I don't know what could be done about it. It's already been arranged."
"And your parents are coming as well, you said?" Cassandra questioned. Belle nodded. "Do they know of what the others have planned?"
"Not yet," Belle told her. "It's too late to send a message to them. They're probably halfway through their journey already and it would be a waste of time and resources to send a courier. I don't know what to do! Should I tell them what Josie did? Or should I pretend it was my idea? It might look terrible for the Inquisition if people were to learn that the advisors are hatching plots behind their Inquisitor's back. Not only is it highly unprofessional, but it makes us look petty and conspiratorial."
"This is true," Cassandra agreed. "I would say go along with it. For now, at least... but perhaps consider devising your own plan, in the meantime, in retaliation?"
"You mean plot my revenge?" Belle asked. Then she chuckled. "Seeker! That's awfully dubious of you. I didn't know you had it in you."
"I have my moments," Cassandra smirked. "And I'm quite certain it's what Dorian would say in my place."
The mention of the Tevinter mage made Belle's smile falter and her jovial manner slipped. "Yes, well," she clipped. "There is still that to deal with, isn't there," she mumbled, almost to herself.
"My apologies, Inquisitor," Cassandra told her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Perhaps it would be best if the two of you spoke? Allow yourself the satisfaction of speaking your mind on the issue, and do him the courtesy of at least hearing his excuse. You've encouraged me enough times to hear what Varric has to say, but perhaps now is the time to take your own advice?" Belle slumped a little at that. The Seeker was right, of course. But it didn't make it any easier to work up the nerve to do it.
"I just... I just wish I didn't feel so angry with him," she vented. "I know I don't have any right to be. It's not his fault. Maybe he was afraid to disappoint me, so that is why he led me on like that. Perhaps he thought I would hate him. Oh what am I saying, he probably does think that. We've hardly spoken two words to one another since we returned to Skyhold. What if he thinks I've been avoiding him because I don't want to be seen in public with him? That I'm bigoted in some way?"
"There's only one way to know for certain what Dorian thinks," Cassandra reminded. "I know it is difficult to face him, Inquisitor, but you'll feel better once you do, and you never know, perhaps Dorian could even help you figure out a way to deal with all this arranged marriage business. It couldn't hurt to try to work through your problems. I know that I am rather lacking in that ability myself, and I should probably stop avoiding Varric as much as I do, but it doesn't mean I'm wrong in this."
Belle sighed at that, but gave the Seeker a smile and nodded in acknowledgement. It was true. Cassandra was rarely ever wrong. Blunt, scathing at times, but honest and well meaning. Skyhold's thorny rose. A fighter. A lover. A stubborn Seeker determined to rebuff all of Varric's attempts at friendship, yet an adoring fan of his written works. A walking contradiction, in that regard. Many, many wonderful and perplexing things, but certainly not wrong. "Thank you, Seeker," Belle said to her.
When she parted ways with Cassandra, she found her feet dragging with every step she took toward the library. Solas had taken a break from painting the frescoes that decorated the foyer, and was currently lounging on the couch with a book on his lap. He noticed Belle stop at the bottom of the stairs and peer up them, drumming her fingers on the wall, as there were no banisters in the ancient stone castle. Seeing her hesitance, and perhaps knowing the cause, he leapt to his feet and waltzed over.
Quietly, he muttered, "Yes, he is there, and no, he will not spontaneously burst into flame if you speak to him, Inquisitor."
Belle sighed again at her own folly. "Ma serannas, Solas," she murmured back, then took the stairs, albeit slowly. Solas went back to reading, absently shaking his head in wonder. She felt her stomach twist into knots as she steadily climbed. How many times had she imagined taking those stairs to find Dorian just around the corner on the next landing to surprise her with an unexpected kiss? Too many to count, and it made her stomach turn now, to think of how unwanted such affection would truly be.
How impossible of a dream it truly was. That there would never be moments when Dorian would steal her away to stroll with her in the garden arm-in-arm, not as friends, but something more. That they would never share pastries like her parents sometimes would, and if Dorian were to ever say, "You've got something on her face, darling," and dab the icing on her cheek, it would never mean anything more than brotherly affection. She felt so ashamed at all the fantasies she'd had of him.
Some of those fantasies had been entirely too intimate. Sleepless nights tossing and turning in her bed, imagining what it would feel like to run her hands up and down Dorian's exquisite chest, the feel of him pressing her up against the bookshelf, always too shy to just act on impulse, never just coming out and saying what she wanted, and instead torturing herself with the image of it. Hoping and praying that one day Dorian would just appear in her room one night, and ravish her on her four poster bed.
She felt like she was going to vomit now. She had made it obvious enough to Dorian that she found him attractive, and Maker, what he must've thought every time she would attempt to flirt with him, gazing at him with bedroom eyes, making an utter fool of herself like that. She should've taken all the hints that he could never be serious about her. Should've listened to what he wasn't saying, and what he wasn't doing. Like asking her to dinner, or showing any sort of affection beyond the most socially acceptable.
But how could she not think there was something more between them? The way he reciprocated her flirtations made her think that perhaps there truly was a mutual attraction, only maybe Dorian didn't act on it for any number of good reasons. Such as, 'What would people think of the Inquisitor courting the son of a Magister?' Or perhaps, 'Mages cannot have romantic relationships in the south. Would I be hanged for this? Will the Commander have me thrown from the battlements?'
Turns out, he was never thinking those things at all. But more like, 'Fasta vass! Will this woman please stop looking at me like a slab of meat?!' Or maybe even, 'Kaffas! This woman is insufferable! As if I would ever touch her with a ten foot pole! How revolting!' And more than likely, 'Andraste preserve me, what I wouldn't give to be down on my knees under the Commander's desk! Maker, he's attractive! When he barks at the new recruits like that, I just want to throw myself at him!'
It took everything for Belle to not well up in tears again and maintain an air of relative calm as she continued her ascent. She had to be the most pathetic woman in existence, pining for a man that would probably gag at the sight of her naked. Her only consolation in this was that at least the rejection she feared had already come to pass. She was beyond the stage of an infatuation when she would be all anxious and fluttery, crossing her fingers and hoping against all hope that he felt the same.
Not like the very first time she had a crush on a boy in the Circle, and after painstakingly writing a note to give him, folding it up into neat little squares, then finally working up the nerve to give it to him, only to watch him briefly glance at the words on the paper, scoff at them, then crumple up the parchment and toss it in the nearest bin. Then, to her complete mortification, announce to everyone in the study hall that she liked him, making some of his friends laugh. The jokes about it afterwards.
She was no longer that girl, and this was not some childhood crush. The circ*mstances were different now. More painful, yes, but the hard part was over. Her heart was already broken. Now it was time to pick up the pieces and move on, somehow. At the top of the stairs, she paused, however, contemplating what to say. When she peered into the nook, she found Dorian leaning against the window sill, staring out at the view, appearing to be deep in thought. Thankfully, he spoke first.
"He said we're alike. Too much pride." His voice was soft and distant, obviously referring to Halward and the words they shared privately in the Gull & Lantern. Evidently he'd been thinking back on it and he was still too distracted by those events to even be angry that Belle had been avoiding him. Or perhaps he expected her to avoid him. To continue to give him his space. "Once I would've been overjoyed to hear him say that. But now, I'm not certain. And I don't know if I can forgive him."
"He tried to change you," she commented, trying to sound sympathetic.
"Out of desperation. I wouldn't put on a show, marry the girl, keep everything unsavory private and locked away. Selfish, I suppose, not to want to spend my entire life screaming on the inside." Maker, if only he knew how much she found she could relate to him just then, on some level. "He was going to do a blood ritual! Alter my mind! Make me... acceptable, I found out... I left." Belle once again picked at her gloves nervously when he raised his voice a little at the end, her stomach doing somersaults.
"Can blood magic actually do that?" she asked.
"Maybe," he shrugged a shoulder, "It could also have left me a drooling vegetable. It crushed me to think he found that absurd risk preferable to scandal. Part of me has always hoped he didn't really want to go through with it. If he had... I can't even imagine the person I would be now."
"Will you be alright?" she asked him.
"No," he answered honestly, "Not really." He turned to face her. "Thank you for bringing me out there. It wasn't what I expected, but... it's something. Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display. I haven't been blind to how you avoid me in the library these days."
Belle stared at her feet. "It hasn't changed how I feel about you, Dorian, but... well, I suppose that's problem, isn't it."
"What do you mean?" he asked, stepping closer and crossing his arms over his chest.
"I... care for you," she admitted.
"I'm fond of you as well, Inquisitor," he said. "But I feel as if there's more you're not saying."
Belle sighed and flopped down in the arm chair, cradling her head in her hands. "I love you."
"That's sweet of you to say."
"No, Dorian, I'm in love with you."
"Oh dear."
There was a pause, as if Dorian didn't know what to say to her. Belle swallowed the lump in her throat, then attempted to put her feelings into words. "You led me on, Dorian. You made me think there could be something more between us. That there was something between us. I... I fell for you." She heard a dejected sigh in response. At least he seemed to pity her and he wasn't laughing at her like she was ridiculous. "You let me think you could feel the same for me, and..."
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "You're a remarkable woman, Inquisitor. I mean that in the best way. In another life... I meant no offense. I certainly didn't mean to let you think..." Another sigh. Then she felt him kneel down and clasp her hands in his, trying to get her to look at him, but she couldn't. "I am truly sorry. I got carried away, I think. It was fun for me. I didn't think you would take our banter seriously. I... I don't know what to say to fix this. Our friendship, I mean. If we are still friends, that is."
Still feeling a deep desire to see him happy, and not wishing to upset him further, she nodded and said, "O-of course we are. I don't hate you, Dorian, and I'm not... that angry with you, really. I'm not even sure it's anger that I feel, and I'm more upset with myself than anything. I feel like a fool."
"Oh, my dear, you're not a fool," he soothed. "I'm the one that's foolish. I do care for you deeply, but... well, you've become like a sister to me. All I can think to do now is to try to preserve that. You promise you're not too cross with me?"
On the verge of tears again, she answered, "I promise. I'll be alright. I just... I think I need some time to... to move on." She gently pulled her hands from his. "And maybe a very large bottle of wine."
"I would offer to join you, but... well, considering this..." He gestured to the air between them. "Whatever this is... I'll give you your space, Inquisitor."
"Thank you," she said, then she pried herself from the chair and attempted to compose herself, wiping her eyes. There was nothing more to say, really, and she certainly couldn't take back her confession to him and pretend it never happened, so Belle simply turned and left the library. She didn't wish to be seen like this, so instead of paying a visit to the Herald's Rest, she slunk down to the wine cellar, plucked a bottle of what looked the strongest, then carted it to her chambers.
Meanwhile, Dorian had been given a lot to think about. He never imagined hearing a love confession from his dearest friend, but perhaps he shouldn't be surprised. He was handsome, that was true, and admittedly, he didn't exactly discourage her from developing any feelings. He felt absolutely terrible for it. Here he'd been, utterly clueless to the fact that he was quite literally breaking the woman's heart by divulging his interest in men, and what was worse, was that he felt no shame at the time.
For the first time in his life, Dorian Pavus, most recently from Minrathous, had been bold enough to bare his heart, not only to a precious friend, but his heartless father, who wanted to dictate not only his future, but his very nature. For the first time, with the Inquisitor at his side, he'd felt confident enough to stand up for himself, instead of merely running from his problems like a petulant child. Belle had inspired that in him. Now, to learn that his behavior had come at such a cost... it was devastating.
But, true to his overindulgent nature, he couldn't really think of a way to help her except... well, sex. Not with him, of course, but with someone. Mere minutes after she left, he'd had an epiphany of sorts, and surmised that the best way to help mend her broken heart, and hopefully get back in her good graces so they could carry on like nothing was amiss, was by hatching a plot to set her up with someone. A good, thorough shagging from someone who was utterly smitten with her would surely do the trick.
Needing something to distract him from the gaping hole in his chest that his father had so kindly carved out for him after their meeting in Redcliffe, Dorian brushed himself off, preened his perfect locks, then subsequently left the library, in search of such a man. He didn't have to go far. He already knew just where one could be found. He was never too far away, and always in his office, with tired, yet still smoldering eyes endlessly pouring over reports and missives, rubbing the pesky crick in his neck.
A man who only had eyes for the Inquisitor since meeting her that fateful day in Haven. Though he completely denied having the faintest clue what anyone was talking about, whenever they should point out how he would stare longingly at the beautiful mage when she wasn't looking. Or how he would turn the most delightful shade of pink at her mere mention. A man who was not only handsome, but stupidly brave and chivalrous, so much so that it made Dorian want to vomit.
With perfect blonde hair and a Ferelden accent most everyone found insufferably charming. With a deep booming voice that he only reserved for barking at his recruits, but never, ever used with the Inquisitor. No, he was all soft, endearing awkwardness and politeness in her presence. So incredibly obviously in love with her that it almost seemed a shame that he didn't prefer the company of men, because what Dorian wouldn't give to have that sort of devotion. Such annoyingly apparent affection.
He burst into Cullen's office and planted himself in front of the man's desk with his hands on his hips.
Without even blinking, let alone looking up from the report he was reading, the Commander groused, "What is now, Dorian?"
"I just had the most interesting conversation with the Inquisitor," he announced.
"So you've heard the news then?" Cullen asked.
"What news?"
"That she's getting married?"
"She's getting what?!"
Cullen glanced up from the report. "Yes? Wait, you hadn't heard? What were going to tell me then?"
"That can wait. What is this business that Belle is getting married?! To whom? And why have I just now heard this news?"
"So you truly had no idea?" Cullen said instead of answering.
"I'd say an explanation is very much in order, Commander."
Cullen sighed. "Do you have a few hours?"
"Right. Chess it is then. I'll go prepare the board."
