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Ill timing is an art

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The first time the Inquisitor said I love you to his Tevinter mage, would go down in history as the most unromantic, ill timed confession in all of the Dragon Age.

Later on, Varric claimed it was even worse than what he'd gotten out of Hawke, one night, splendidly drunk, with the human mage in a sharing mood about his elf and how they'd gotten back together.

"I can't believe you're really this seasick," said the rouge behind him, with no small amount of amusement.

Dorian barely managed to get up the ship's railing to tell him exactly where he could stick his amusement, when he found himself facing the sea again, continuing to lose his breakfast, lunch and what seemed like several days worth of food to the blue waters of the Waking Sea.

"Inky! Leave Magey-bits alone, so we can finish this round!"

"More like Sick-bits, right now," added the dwarf.

Dorian peered over his shoulder, looking at Trevelyan, who was smirking at the elf and the dwarf, but otherwise wasn't moving from his position, just outside of the mage's reach.

Even as sick and angry as he was he could appreciate how his lover looked at sea. Sometimes Dorian forgot how handsome the man was. Between his own messy choice in appearance and all the guts and blood he regularly found himself soaked in, it was easy to forget.
But with the wind in his face, a wide legged stance to keep his balance and a smile that couldn't decide whether to be a smirk or sympathetic, he looked every bit the figure out of legend people said he was.

"If you know you get so sick, why did you come along? I could've taken Solas. He was quite eager to see these stupid ruins."

He was about to answer, when another fit shook him, nearly hurling himself as well as his lunch from the ship.

A firm grasp held him back, before he went too far overboard. He would've been grateful, if Vex's metal fingers weren't digging into his shoulder.

Dorian made a disgruntled noise, not even knowing what he was trying to say.

Please, stop pressing your unnecessarily sharp claws into me?

My throat is burning, my head is swimming, please leave me alone in my misery?

Go back to Varric and Sera, before you decide seeing me like this will turn you off for the foreseeable future?

I agreed, because after Adamant I'm terrified to let you out of my sight?

All quite difficult to voice, with his throat constricting, acid building up. Yet again. Maker, how far was it to the shore?

"Don't you know some evil magister spell to cure seasickness? I thought you Tevinters knew everything about magic."

He shot him a glare, but it's withering effect was lost on the rouge, who smirked, but passed him a handkerchief.
Not that is was of any use, since he predicted another round of disgusting.......

Fuck, how far was the shore again?

"Dori, really, why did you come? I'd much rather have you at home, safe and...not stinking like a seedy tavern."

His voice rasped, unable to form words.

"All right. That was.....a perfectly good explanation!"

Dorian gestured behind himself, flicking the man off. Since he wasn't going to be helpful, the least he could do was scram. And stop mocking him.

"Honestly Dorian, I love you, but right now, you look like a drowned dog. Smell like one too. You should've just stayed in Skyhold."

What? What?


"And he talks!"

Not for long, as the shock of his confession made Dorian forget where he was and why he was pouring his guts into the sea. But his stomach didn't.

So when his stomach gave out the meager contents it had left, Dorian fell on his knees and let it all out on the ship's floor. And his lover's boots.

"Fuck!" he shouted, jumping back," Dorian! This is brand new! Can't you at least....."

"YOU! ....You infuriating ass of a man! It's is your own fucking fault! Now? Now, you choose to..... kaffas, you moronic......"

The rest was drowned out, as Dorian flung himself to the raining of the ship once more, now not only sick and angry, but shocked and panicked as well.

"Wow. A full sentence. I should consider myself lucky."

That was it!

Dorian whipped around, mustering all the strength and dignity he had left and hurled a fireball at his lover.

Between his protective armor and Dorian's current state, all it did was make one red eyebrow curl up.

"That was the worst love confession I've ever heard."

Both men looked at the dwarf, who was watching them, scribbling in his notebook, blatantly using them as material for his next work of "art".

"I didn't realize it was supposed to be a secret."

"To us? No. To your Dori-poo? Definitely."

"Maker. Never say that name again."


The mage's protest never formed, as another wave hit, thankfully without giving anything out. Small mercies.

Trevelyan sighted, unclasping his gauntlets, this time rubbing Dorian's back soothingly.

"You can yell at me, when we are back on solid land. For now, just try to relax."

"I hate you," he said, his voice a perfect mirror of his misery.

"I know. I love you too."