Spellbound

29. Discarded

"How long did you know?"

Varric refused to look at Lavellan, but his pity was etched into his features as bright as day. He cursed under his breath, bad at lying.

"He planned it all along. From the moment he took you in, he knew Tevinter wasn't your place to be. A while later, he asked me to arrange safety instead of just dropping you off at the border. He wanted only the best for you. Sounded as if he expected you to come back guns blazing for revenge, too." Varric chuckled, but his voice was tainted with nervosity. With blank features, Lavellan stared at the road ahead. They were on their way to meet Varric's friends, but neither curiosity nor joy sparked in Lavellan.

He felt betrayed.

"So, I aimed to take you as I did for Fenris, easing the work. I thought Sparkler would keep you around for long since he seemed quite taken with you, but then he mentioned it to me again while you were asleep after Danarius' attack. At first, we talked only about Fenris, but then he said he would send you away, as well. He claimed it would be in your interest to stay in Kirkwall and make sure Fenris was doing fine."

The side-eye Varric gave Lavellan confirmed his suspicions that it had been an excuse. Dorian had wanted to make sure every reason available would tie Lavellan down.

Rage simmered in Lavellan's gut. Once more, Dorian patronised him, decided for him instead of asking. Lavellan had no right to be mad, they never had romanced each other, but he still felt as if that relationship got abused.

With a sigh, Varric led him down the stairs into Lowtown where people of all races bustled more casually and many more street food vendors attracted Varric's gaze.

"I agreed because I assumed it would be best for you. You deserve your freedom. Though the look on your face tells me I made a mistake."

Frosty, Lavellan stared at the big sign ahead. The Hanging Man had a massive figurine of a man hanged by his feet dangling over its entrance door. A red-painted bag was pulled over his head as he swayed in the wind. While grimy, the warm light from inside and the merry conversation coupled with music spoke of a place like home.

"He never asked me," Lavellan replied, voice curt. The wind played in his hair, carrying away the bits of scent from Dorian that still clung to him.

"You didn't need to be asked. He kept you against your will, and that was where his wish to set you free started. The people working for him sought him out and get paid to live their lives in Tevinter. You never did. Same as Fenris, who merely got shoved from one master to the other."

"You don't understand," Lavellan whispered, bitterness walling in his throat. "We-" No, they weren't more, never had been. Dorian carelessly slept with his servants. Dorian had made it very clear they hooked up because they enjoyed the pleasure shared.

Lavellan's heart had been the only one to wish they had been more.

Varric sighed once more.

"Listen, friend, I'm sorry. I will gladly take the brunt of your rage after some beer. We can discuss everything you need later on. Kirkwall is a good place to stay until you've figured out your emotions." Varric opened the door to the Hanging Man and waited for Lavellan to enter.

Hesitant, Lavellan stared into the room filled with light-hearted laughter and rosy-cheeked people.

Too much noise, too many sensations.

He could wallow at the docks in self-pity instead.

They never had been anything more.

Lavellan gritted his teeth and entered the tavern. Dorian was a cruel man, had always been. As expected of a blood mage to sneak off without even saying goodbye to a person he had been so close to.