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Shed your burdens

Summary:

Rilienus was happy at Skyhold, with his Southern lover and his work helping the mages of Ferelden learn their true power.

He would have said yes, a thousand times, but that was an age ago. Rilienus was not the man he had been when he had met the future Inquisitor in a shadowy brothel in the slums of Carastes. He would have said yes, whatever Dorian Pavus had asked. Why then, did it bother him so much that Dorian kept saying no?

Notes:

Points for being excessively long + the Anders pining prompt! This one ran a way a bit... Oops!

Chapter 1: Rilienus

Chapter Text

Rilienus 

 

The glazed globes of ice were in varying states of ruin. Some melting where they floated, or sat in their own puddles unlifted. Others were solid, merged with the rafters above them with uncontrolled feats of force. 

It would have been much, much simpler to simply send the youths north to where mages with a skill at instruction in addition to casting resided, but that - he had been informed - would be tantamount to a declaration of war to many of the bumbling southerners he found himself surrounded by. 

“That’s a very nice butterfly, Jessa,” the blond healer assured the little girl whose lip was quivering. 

“It is,” Rilienus agreed, peering at the creation. “Elegant and detailed. And not remotely what was asked for. Could you attempt it again please? With focus this time?” He plucked the creation from the air and encased it in a solid bubble. “You can keep this for later if you learn to do as I’ve asked.”

“I’ll try,” the girl sniffled, which made him feel slightly awful, but less awful than he would have sending her into the world without a working fundamental understanding of how to formulate a shield. 

Anders was too soft with them. Rilienus supposed he could understand that, given his history. He’d been given far too many whips and not nearly enough rewards. And he’d scrapped together fervor and luck and will in lieu of craft and skill. That was well enough for Anders, but they couldn’t very well expect that all of the magelings would grow into deep wells of power that were undersigned by ancient spirits and unholy curses, nor could they wish for that. Apparently.

But the man was oddly appealing for a Ferelden. He’d have liked to think it was the rarity of the entity that resided within him, but Rilienus had a wary suspicion that his own loneliness and Anders’ were tightly aligned and in kinship was companionship oft born. 

And he had very interesting eyes. And a wicked streak that seemed to go on for miles. And he showed affection like a kitten, purring and tussling and nuzzling in a very pleasant way. Unseemly, of course, but pleasant. 

The Maker knew being seemly hadn’t ever gotten Rilienus much past heartbreak. 

“Again,” he announced, summoning the flawed globes and redirecting the children who had found success to the reading cushions for naps and refreshment. 

He had come south to make right the flagrant wrongs of his countrymen only to discover that he had been outpaced even there. By Dorian bloody Pavus of all people. 

Sunset-strewn silk sheets sweat-sullied in the sultry confines of a brothel house. He’d been eighteen and restless, and Dorian had been indecent and charming and absolutely beautiful, brilliant even when he was soused. They’d made love as only young and hungry men could. Insatiably. And over the next weeks, they’d stumbled together under eaves and in alleys again and again… until Dorian had ceased to return. Ceased, in fact, to be anywhere near Carastes at all. And the next time they’d met on the road in Minrathous, those pale gray eyes that had once melted like mercury as they gazed into his own had remained steely and disinterested. 

Heartbreak, indeed. 

To find the sterling scion of House Pavus in the south, surrounded by filth and ignorance, hailed as a voice for the backwards Orlesian Chantry… had been a shock to say the least. 

“Copper for your thoughts.” Amber was gentler than mercury or steel. 

“You consider my thoughts so cheap?” Rilienus murmured, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the wall beside the healer. His southern lover. If someone had suggested the idea to him mere weeks before, Rilienus would have considered it ridiculous. “Come back to me with an andris or a sovereign and we’ll talk.”

Oooh . Expensive thoughts.”

“Why waste precious time on the paltry?” He glanced at the blond. “I’ll take an Anders in lieu of an andris if you’re strapped, only because I’m feeling particularly generous.”

“Thank the Maker for that.” Anders took Rilienus’ hand in his own, lifting it to his lips. “You know well enough that I’m perpetually strapped, but I’d spend my last copper for a glimpse in here.” He tapped Rilienus’ temple gently. “What are you thinking?”

“That we aren’t equipped to educate, let alone take on a self-professed god, and the last thing I want to do is go demonstrate that before the masked nobility in Orlais.” Which was, in fact, another thing he’d been thinking that morning. That, and how pleasant Anders’ calloused fingers managed to be when he was feeling particularly piqued, and how odd it was that he thought so, and how the damned Inquisitor remained - still - the most jaw-dropping specimen of humanity he’d yet to witness in this realm or the next. “And if you tell them everything they do is marvelous, they won’t learn how to challenge themselves. There’s a balance to be had.”

“There are a few who may benefit from more one-on-one teaching.” Anders dropped his voice, glancing at Rilienus. “I’m glad that girl is still able to make butterflies; I think the older boys are tormenting her. I’ve not yet caught them, but… I’ve a feeling.”

“A feeling,” Rilienus repeated, following that amber gaze back across the room. “Are we dipping into augury, Anders?”

“No, I just-“ He wrinkled his nose. “Sometimes I know something is wrong, even when- Even though he’s not speaking to me anymore. Does that make sense?”

“Spirits speak in many ways.” Rilienus pursed his lips, squeezing Anders’ hand. “If they torment her again, what will be more helpful? A shield and weapon, or pretty ephemera?”

“Enough training so she doesn’t embarrass herself in front of her peers, I’d wager.” Anders smoothed his thumb over the pad of Rilienus’ smiling slightly. “You’re doing a good job, you know.”

“If our enemies come to this fortress as they did to Haven, every one of them will die, and many others besides.” Rilienus gritted the backs of his teeth. “I’m a poor teacher. They deserve better. Or better yet, to be somewhere safer. Somewhere with magic we understand and people who can focus on protecting them rather than… greater purposes.”

“And still, you’re doing a good job.” Anders tilted his head back towards the children. “Two weeks ago Lila could barely manage a spark and now she’s lighting candles and torches. Before that Kelman was levitating himself when he meant to be moving something else. You seem tired, love. Perhaps you need a nap and a cookie.”

“I do not require a cookie.” Though a nap wouldn’t have hurt. He’d stayed up half the night arguing with the Antivan woman about Halamshiral and had gotten absolutely nowhere. “A walk wouldn’t go amiss, once this lot manages a modicum of success.”

“Do you want company?”

Rilienus sighed. “Whose.”

“Mine?” Anders chuckled. “Was there someone else’s you were hoping for?”

Not hoping. Wishing. He knew better than to hope. “Yours would be most welcome, if you’ve time to spare.”

“For you?” Anders smiled slightly, his gaze warm and familiar. “I’ll make it.”

“I appreciate your generosity.” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “You’ve enough of everything you need for your work? I could while a few hours at bandages and potions this evening, if only to feel useful.”

“You don’t feel useful as it is?” Anders shook his head. “I’m fine. You could use the rest.”

“I abhor rest. I’m a scion of a self-destructive empire.”

“Even so. I can manage.” Anders lifted his brows. “You wouldn’t want to start getting lines under your eyes.”

“How dare you.” He touched his own chin. “As though I would tarnish this specimen. It is a responsibility.”

“And yet you’re determined to run on that dreadful drink you brought south with you and an hour or two of sleep a day.”

“Dr- Pardon me, do we need to speak of dreadful when Ferelden wine could easily be misconstrued as swine piss?” 

Children , Rilienus-“ 

“They should be warned. Maker forbid they try their hand at it on a lark and believe falsely that all spirits are so sour and thoroughly dispiriting.” He reached out a hand and spilled a wave of upward force beneath a shattering globe, holding the pieces in place. “Where did you go afoul, Gannon?”

“Too much force,” the boy sighed. 

“Begin again.” He coalesced the shards of ice into a ball of water and poured it back into the dark-haired boy’s bowl. “At this rate, my legs will atrophy.” Rilienus peered at Anders out of the corner of his eye. “…has he asked you yet?”

“Has who asked me what?”

“Our great and glorious leader about his impending foolhardy endeavor.”

“You say that almost fondly.” Anders chuckled, closing his eyes as he rested his head against the wooden frame of the shed. “Yes, but he’s mad to take me to Halamshiral. They hate me in Ferelden, sure, but they hate me even more in Orlais.”

“Ah well. I’d rather thought that to be hated in the south was a compliment to one’s abilities and exploits, no?”

A single gilded eye opened to peer at him. “Perhaps, but the rotten fruit and pitchforks do get old after the first couple of times.”

“That’s meant as a dissuasion?” Rilienus asked, batting his lashes in a performative naïveté. “I’d thought they were simply demonstrating their wares in a haphazard manner. My, how I’ve misread this whole situation.”

“You would be far better suited at the ball than I would. I can’t wrap my head around why he wouldn’t ask you. How many Tevinters is too many at a party?”

“That depends on who you ask. One, I imagine, to some of the Empress’s court.”

“Perhaps that’s it.”

“I rather doubt it,” Rilienus sighed, leaning beside him, studying the odd angles of the man’s face that somehow managed to come together in peace. “You’ll do well, I’m sure. If things go poorly - which they undoubtedly will - he’ll need your skills and your wisdom. And Orlesians love nothing better than a bit of drama.”

“I’d feel better if you were there. Perhaps I’ll suggest it-“

“I wouldn’t, if you’d like to stay on his good side.”

“…so-“ Both eyes were open now, studying him curiously. “ Did you know each other back there? Last time I asked, you changed the-“

“Hold that thought.” Rilienus tugged a bit of shadow from the corner, draping it over and around Anders as the door swung open. 

The Seeker peered inside, fingers flexing on the hilt of her sword. “Where is he?”

“You will need to be moderately more specific, my lady,” Rilienus murmured. “We’re in the middle of a lesson.”

“Anders,” she gritted.

“Hmmm.” Rilienus tapped his lips as he meandered towards her. “I really can’t recall. Have you tried the surgery?”

“I’m not in the mood for games at the moment, Maecilia.”

“But you are sometimes? How very excellent to know. Perhaps a light chess spar later this evening.”

She huffed, scanning the room. Floating globes and napping children. “Send him to the War Room if you see him.”

“I shall do my best, my lady.”

“And stop calling me that,” she muttered as she stalked back across the courtyard. 

“As you will, my lady!” he called after her. He tucked the door shut and redrew the charm on it. “Where were we? Walking . And a cookie? Was I promised a cookie?”

“You turned down the offer of a cookie, if I remember correctly.” Anders shifted, glancing nervously towards the door. “What do you think I did this time? I’ve been minding my manners admirably, I thought.”

“Exceedingly admirably,” Rilienus agreed as the last of the shadows retreated to their corner. “I suspect she’s just learned she’ll need to dress you in a uniform and march you before an empress. Jealousy is such a tepid little beast.”

“I look terrible in red,” Anders grumbled, his line of questioning about Dorian evidently forgotten. “It makes me look like I’m constantly blushing.”

“And what an exquisitely appealing look that is,” he purred, touching Anders’ cheek lightly. “Poppies and ginger. Shall we eschew the walk in favor of a glass so that we might remind you?”

“…you’ve falling spheres to catch still.” Anders melted Gannon’s yet again as it shattered. “But when you’ve finished, yes, I’d like that.”

Rilienus sighed deeply, rolling on his shoulder to assume his place at the wall beside Anders once more. “I could juggle these when I was four . It was supposed to be fun .”

“Because you had parents patient enough to teach you and to demonstrate for you before you even manifested. They’re terrified of their magic. I was terrified of my magic.” Anders knelt next to the boy, taking his hand and dipping it into the water. “You don’t need to force it to stay together; it wants to. Just let it be.”

Rilienus watched as the water wobbled and fluctuated around the boy’s hand. “Don’t worry about the shape just yet. Just lift it as one. One piece, whole, like a swath of silk, hm?”

Gannon glanced between them, frowning in concentration as he slowly lifted his hand and the water rolled off and around it. “Silk.”

Rilienus plucked a fold of his robe and touched it to the boy’s other hand. “Just like this. They’re the same. They’re tangible and smooth. Yes?”

“…I guess.”

“Anders is quite right. It wants to remain whole. You’re not asking it to fall apart, only to do as it would. Up.”

Gannon lifted his hand and the water swayed, dangling from either side of his hand. 

“Good. Very good. Eyes closed. Now bundle it up, with your will, into a ball.”

Slowly the dripping edges pulled together and lifted into a misshapen mass in the boy’s palm. “I’m doing it!”

“Calmly, Gannon. Now just a very light touch of what Lady Vivienne taught you yesterday.” Rilienus peered at the… well, it wasn’t rightly a globe. “Just to cool it down and help it to hold.”

Crystals crackled around the edges. “And let it rise. It wants to rise. Water rises as air. That’s why it’s one of the best things to practice with. Softly. Softly .” He stepped back. “There you are. Much closer.”

“Well done.” Anders caught a fluttering moth made of ice in his palm, offering it back to Jessa with a wink. “It’s a good showing. Cookies all around, Rilienus?”

“One each.” His parents had been patient. Patient and kind. They still were. And they would have loved this work. A houseful of children to dote on and teach to levitate to the sweetest fruits in the orchard. He glanced down to a small yellow-haired girl who was holding up half a cookie to him. “That one’s yours, Tula.” He touched the top of her head gently. “Cookies and rest. Then go find your elders and work on your mathematics.” He watched them file out of the room and carefully eased Tula’s hand from his robe, handing her off to the matron and watching her beam at him over the woman’s shoulder. “I’m ready for my cookie now.”

“You already said that you didn’t-“ Anders’ breath caught as Rilienus nibbled at the shell of his ear. “Oh, that kind of cookie.”

“I’m utterly famished.” He sniffed at the back of Anders’ head, nuzzling deep in his hair for the rich scent of his teas and herbs as he skimmed his hands down Anders’ sides. “A mirror,” he murmured. “I’ll make love to you until you’re cloaked in scarlet and cherry-” He could feel the sharp tug of awareness and lifted his gaze to the higher courtyard where Dorian stood. Watching them. His full lips set in a line. “Perhaps after you’ve made your visit to the War Room,” he grumbled. What had happened to him? He’d been so full of light. He still was, glinting and glimmering for nearly everyone else. But while he’d accepted Rilienus into his little entourage and occasionally even used his skills outside of Skyhold, he hadn’t gleamed for him since Carastes. Memories Rilienus had foolishly laid in marble. “Shall I accompany you?” he asked, turning from the Inquisitor to right himself. 

It didn’t matter that the gifted son of House Pavus no longer looked on him with any measure of pleasure. He was making his own way, doing right by his own house, trying to civilize the south inch by inch and make right the ancient wrongs of his country. And not everyone in the fortress despised him. Far from it. They didn’t trust him, certainly, but Rilienus was hardly alone in that.

Anders’ friends, for example, had taken to him expectedly swimmingly after the initial threats of violence. And his enemies seemed to find Rilienus the lesser of the two evils, which was fascinating in itself, but he hadn’t undertaken the task of convincing him that he really was a bit more dangerous than they seemed to think. He wasn’t an idiot. If they wanted to think he was a fop and a dandy, so much the better. He could be trusted to teach the magelings without teaching them ‘too much’ - whatever that meant. Rilienus had never discovered an iota of knowledge that didn’t bear some value. 

“Perhaps I can serve as a  distraction to the Seeker’s malaise.” Rilienus tilted his head. “If you’d like.”

“…would you come along with me?” Anders exhaled sharply, following Rilienus’ gaze up towards the Lord Inquisitor. “I’d appreciate it. Wait - Andraste’s knickerweasles, you changed the subject on me again . Did you know him before, in Tevinter?”

“Who really knows anyone?”

“Ril.”

“No time now, arbutus meus.” He dotted a kiss to Anders’ cheek and slipped to his side, crossing his wrists as they strode towards waiting steel. “Remind me later.”

“I’m going to. Mark it.” 

“I would much prefer to mark you ,” Rilienus murmured, smirking to himself. That idea held all sorts of promise.

“I know you would. And yet.” Anders rolled his eyes, climbing the stairs to where Dorian waited, surveying the extent of his domain. Hoards of refugees in ill-tailored uniforms. They could scarcely keep up with bandages, let alone arms or men and women trained enough to wield them.

“You’re here.” Dorian didn’t turn to them, his fingers curled around the steel of his staff. “Good. Then we can begin.”

“Begin what, precisely?” Rilienus asked. There was a small- alright not that small- part of him that very much enjoyed the way the man’s jaw seemed to flinch each time he spoke. As though he was expected to spill all of House Pavus’ secrets on the ground wheresoever he stood. 

“Ah. I hadn’t realized you’d be attending the council meeting, Maecilia.” Long, dexterous fingers tapped his staff. Paler than when they’d twined together under the Tevinter moon. “Preparations for the journey west and for the events awaiting us in Halamshiral.”

“It’s been simply ages since I had a chance to dabble in politics. I’d very much appreciate the opportunity if you don’t mind.”

“…I’ll speak to Ambassador Montilyet about your request.”

“We spoke of it just last evening.” And well into the morning. “But I’m certain she’ll want your approval as well. You are, after all, our intrepid leader.” He smiled. His smile, he’d been told, was a winning one. Anders loved to trace it. His parents had told him it was one of his best features and to use it carefully and sparingly. He’d thrown many a wasted one at Dorian’s feet, like wilting flowers. 

“Your talents are better suited here,” Dorian exhaled sharply through his nose. “I’ve heard nothing but praise for your efforts with the children from the Chantry Sisters-“

“The enemy of my enemy adores me, as they should.” He could almost hear his own teeth cracking with the effort of keeping the dismay from his expression. “Of course, it’s a united effort. Anders and Vivienne have both been essential-“

“I don’t understand why you’d take me over Rilienus.” Anders glanced between them, brows raised. “You’re taking a bull into a porcelain cabinet.”

“You’re hardly a bull. He has a Bull.” Much to Rilienus’ chagrin. “You aren’t planning on bringing the qunari, are you, Inquisitor?”

“No. Seeker Pentaghast will be loaning her martial skills to the endeavor.” 

“I stand corrected,” Rilienus murmured, casting his smile at more fertile ground. “They are bringing a bull, after all.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Anders chuckled, nudging him lightly with his hip.

“She has heard me say that. She took it as a compliment. Which,” he added, lifting his brows, “it is.”

Dorian cleared his throat. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I’ll see you shortly.”

“I thought you were waiting on him?” Rilienus tilted his head. “No?”

“We are.” Dorian turned on his heels, not meeting Rilienus’ gaze. “Quite shortly, I should hope.”

“I do hope there are snacks,” Rilienus glanced at Anders before the man could mention the obvious awkwardness. “Dear Josie has quite the repository in her desk. Little truffles covered in salt, the darling.”

…how did you know him, Rilienus?” Anders whispered, though not very quietly. “He practically fled. And that man dropped an avalanche down on a bloody dragon .”

Rilienus held his elbow tightly. “Everyone knows everyone generally among the Alti,” he explained quietly, which was true. To an extent. “Names and faces and whatnot. I’ve been cursed to be either loved or hated; I lost the coin toss in this particular venture. Let’s just be grateful there are no good poison merchants here, hm?” Rilienus lifted his chin, widening his eyes meaningfully. “Alright?”

“You think he would-“ Anders blinked. “Really? Why ?” 

“Oh, you sweet fellow,” Rilienus chuckled. “Why not ?”

“Why would someone want to assassinate someone they don’t even know?”

“That’s the easiest way to do it. Far more difficult is assassinating the ones you do know, and then going to their family’s house party. Or sitting the bench beside their father or their uncle or their child.” He glanced up as they stepped into the main hall. “We shall have to teach you a few basic spells before you visit the empress’ throne room. There aren’t usually as many murders at an Orlesian party, but there are still quite a few and for all the talk of their Great Game, their bards tend to be rather predictable.”

“…hm.” Anders lifted his brows. “So you’re looking after him like a lost pup because he wants to assassinate you. This makes complete sense.”

Rilienus nodded succinctly. “ Excellent ; I’m glad you understand. Then we can stop talking about it in earshot of the sculptors.”

“Fair enough, but I do have follow-on questions.” Anders lifted his brows meaningfully. “For later.”

“You’re more than welcome to bargain for answers.”

“Oh yes? I’ll give you my spot at Halamshiral, gladly, for gossip.” 

“If it’s gossip you want, you should keep your seat. Orlesians are notorious gossips. Three summers ago, we attended a fete in Val Chevin and after only an hour, I had enough chatter collected to blackmail at least two barons and five chevaliers.”

“It’s your gossip that interests me, love,” Anders circled his hands around Rilienus’ waist. “What business do I have with barons?”

“Barons donate to Chantries and have a great deal to do with the servants who service them. If it is your intent to affect the ruinous system of your people, it is easier and quieter to start at the bottom.” He glanced to where Dorian was entering the War Room ahead of them and leaned against Anders to whisper in his ear, “And you’re so very good at starting at the bottom.” He winked, slipping out of arm’s reach with a little hop and spun lazily through the door. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I was told there might be wine.”

“Lord Maecilia, I thought we settled this matter before breakfast, did we not?” Josephine peered at him from behind her clipboard. “Was there something else you wished to bring before the council?”

“Yes.” He offered her his smile and she at least received it, even if he knew it made little difference to her beyond setting a mood. “I really ought to go. I’m immune to seventy-three varietals of dreamsmoke and oleander, conversant in six languages, and I’m exceptionally charming.”

“Rilienus, I said ‘no’ .” Dorian had taken his seat, his eyes that same sharp shade of steel he’d encountered in Minrathous. “I’ll have a bottle sent to your rooms. Thank you.”

Rilienus crossed his arms. “I taught Gaspard de Chalons how to play Imperial chess. He likes me and I know how he thinks. I could help -“

“Rilienus, that will be all.” Dorian stood, staring him down. “My decision is final.”

“‘Altus Maecilia’,” Rilienus said stiffly. “You may have a glowing hand, my lord Pavus, but you are no better than I.”

“Thank you for reminding me, Altus.” Dorian’s jaw was so tight it was a wonder he had any teeth left at all. “I will try to keep it in mind.”

What had he done ? Was all this still over his concerns that Rilienus might spill his precious secrets? They were years in the past. “Do that.” Although… it was true, he mused. He had his own connections to the court at Halamshiral. He didn’t really need the permission of the Inquisition. He steepled his fingers with a little smile. “Well. What a pity. Best of luck then.”

“Thank you.” Dorian returned to his seat, deflating slightly as he smoothed his robes out behind him. “I’ll send my last Perivantium red to your chambers when I’m finished here.”

“I’ll pick you up a case in Val Royeaux.” He touched his forehead with a little bow. “I never much liked wearing a uniform in any case.”

The sigh he elicited from the Inquisitor was audible, even from across the room. Resignation over tired eyes. “As you will, Altus.”

Precisely. He tucked his tongue into his cheek as he slipped from the room with a nod and a wink to Anders. He was the scion of one of the First Houses, a graduate with honors of the Circle of Carastes, and the heir to House Maecilia. As he willed, indeed. He needed no one’s permission but his own.