Sitting on the sofa that he and Lazare had moved in front of the fire in order to stave off the chill of the torrential night, Dorian watched as his lover prepared the tea. Leaning on the arm of the sofa, Dorian propped his head on his hand and watched Lazare with a small but fond smile--loving the way the light from the fire brought out the different shades of red in his paramour's crimson hair. His fingers tingled with the urge to run his fingers through those soft, shoulder-length locks. Inevitably, his gaze was drawn to the shaved patch on the side of Lazare's head, and he once again found himself wondering what had prompted the beautiful man in front of him to adopt so drastic a hairstyle. Had it been done on a whim? Did the patch refuse to grow because a spell had gone awry? Dorian simply had to know. "Why would you style your hair like that?" he asked at last.
Lazare blinked and paused in pouring the steeped tea into cups before looking to the exotic man lounging on the sofa. "Pardon?"
"Why would you style your hair like that, Amatus?" Dorian repeated. "Your hair is so soft and luxurious…I simply can't for the life of me understand why you would consciously choose to shave any of it off," he mused with his smile still in place. "Surely, there must be a story behind it…"
"There is…" Lazare replied cautiously. "But, why would you wish to know it?"
"Does a man need a reason to want to know more about the man with whom he is so intimate?" Dorian asked with a slightly quirked eyebrow.
Lazare was silent for several moments before sighing. "No, I suppose not…" he answered in a soft voice while stepping over to the couch with the two cups in hand once he put the kettle down. "But I must warn you…it is not a pleasant story." He sat beside his lover and carefully handed one of the cups to him. "You may regret asking."
"I'm not a child, Amatus," Dorian replied after sighing as he accepted the cup. "I know that not every story can be a happy one, but if it helps me learn more about what makes you you, then I am willing to listen." He offered his lover a comforting smile. "You listened to me when I told you my tragic tale, why should I not do the same for you?"
Lazare was silent for several moments as he simply stared into the contents of his cup. "I do my hair this way to remind me of the first man I ever truly loved...and of why Templars are never to be trusted," he murmured.
“You trust Cullen,” Dorian observed.
“Cullen is no longer a Templar,” Lazare replied. “And even though I am a mage, he has never once treated me with anything else but the utmost respect. He treats me like a person, and so he is not deserving of my hatred and distrust…the same cannot be said for my tormentors. “After what they did to me…after what they did to…” He squeezed his eyes shut for several moments and had to take several deep breaths in order to calm himself. "Bram was his name...and he kept his hair closely shaved because when we were young boys in the Circle, he lost control of a fire spell, and his beautiful, black curls suffered for it." A sad smile played over his lips as he slowly opened his eyes. "He refused to let his hair grow long after that..."
"What happened to him?" Dorian asked softly before sipping his tea.
"The Templars killed him," Lazare hissed while narrowing his eyes. "They killed him after months of tormenting him in order to get to me," he added bitterly.
Dorian blinked and turned his head towards his lover. Having expected to hear that Bram had been mad Tranquil, his lover's answer took him by surprise. "I don't understand."
Lazare sighed. "While even mages born into noble families are not immune to being put in the Circle, they are still treated with a certain degree of leniency and respect because noble families more often than not are strong supporters of the Chantry, and word would undoubtedly get back to them if their children were abused in some way. But my parents…my horribly devout parents…" His upper lips curled up in a silent snarl. "The moment I was discovered to have magic, my parents locked me away in my room. In that single moment, I stopped being their youngest son that they loved and doted upon, and instead I became their shame…a blemish on the family name that needed to be locked away and never spoken of again. They even barred my windows. I never saw them or my siblings…not even on my birthday. My books were the only company I had. My meals were slipped into my room through a slot in the bottom of my door. I was a prisoner in my own home for years until one night, I had a horrible nightmare…and my secret became know when I accidentally set my room on fire."
"They handed you over to the Templars?" Dorian asked in a calm voice that did not match the growing anger in his eyes when he heard how his lover's parents had treated him. It was true that his own father was prepared to do a blood ritual on him in order to change his mind, but up until then, his parents had doted on him. They may not have loved each other, but they had loved him.
"More like threw me," Lazare answered bitterly. "My Chant-spewing parents couldn't get rid of me fast enough, and they publicly disowned me. They cut any and all ties with me, and made no secret of it…and that made me the perfect prey for a particularly sadistic group of Templars. Of course, now that I am believed to be the Herald of Andraste, my parents have all but been clamoring at my door…begging me to forgive them, but it is too late for that. I could never forgive them for what they did…for what they allowed to happen to me." He clenched his jaw. "For the first few years I spent in the Circle, I received more than my fair share of beatings for whatever unfounded reason the Templars could think of…" He lightly traced the scar that started on the left side of his upper lip and continued down his chin. "After all, there was no one I could run to. I had no protection."
Dorian knew from all their intimate moments that it was not the only scar on Lazare's magnificent body. His back was covered with them, and he spent many moments tracing his fingers over them as his lover slept as though subconsciously attempting to heal them. "What of the First Enchanter?" he asked while placing his cup down upon the small table in front of them. "Surely he would have done something to help if you had told him what was happening?" He placed a hand gently upon Lazare's knee.
"He was nothing more than a puppet," Lazare replied bitterly. "A puppet of the Templars who spouted Chantry garbage at every turn. He cared nothing for his charges if they didn't believe as he did, and did nothing to intervene on their behalf." He gave a small sigh. "I found comfort in Bram. He was an elf, and possessed such a kind, gentle heart...he was my only friend, and he was so very dear to me. He made everything better. Like you, he calmed my anger and soothed the dark places of my heart, and it only continued as we grew older and our friendship developed into something deeper..." His eyes were sad even as a fond smile played over his lips. "We worked so very hard to keep our love a secret so the Templars couldn't use it against us…and for a good while, we managed it. In spite of our situation, we were happy. We had each other, and we were in love…that was all that mattered." His smile faded. "But somehow we were found out...and then my nightmare truly began."
"But why would the Templars turn their focus to him?" Dorian asked.
"Because they knew it would break me far worse than any of their beatings ever could," Lazare whispered. "Physical scars heal over time and eventually fade, but emotional scars…they often remain as fresh as the first moment they were inflicted," Lazare replied darkly even as his eyes welled up with tears. "And every time, I would find Bram bruised and bleeding, another piece of my soul would die...and there was nothing either of us could do about it. Even if we managed to fight back, all that awaited us was Tranquility or solitary confinement." He blinked his eyes and stubbornly refused to allow his tears to fall. "But one day, Templars went too far…"
Dorian slipped his other arm around Lazare's shoulders. "Amatus, you don't have to keep going if you don't wish to. If talking about this is too painful…" He nuzzled into his lover's hair when Lazare let his head fall against his shoulder.
"He died in my arms before I could get him to a healer…" Lazare whispered as he finally lost the fight against his tears which now rolled down his cheeks. "I cradled his battered, broken body until I was forced to let him go, and I began shaving my head to preserve his memory. When my beatings resumed, I prayed for death so that I could be with my sweet Bram once more…but the Maker couldn't even grant me that," he hissed while narrowing his eyes.
"It was not your destiny to die, Amatus," Dorian murmured while giving Lazare’s shoulder a small squeeze.
"But it was my destiny to be cast out and abandoned by my own parents and then abused within an inch of my life?" Lazare asked bitterly. "I swore I would avenge Bram one day, and so when the rebellion began, I killed my way through the entire tower until I found the Templars who had murdered him. Their deaths were not quick…and there was nothing left of them by the time I had finished my work."
"But it did not help your anger," Dorian observed. As outwardly placid as his lover appeared, he knew only too well of the rage that dwelled within Lazare. He could see it burning in his eyes, and he saw it every time they went into battle--the way Lazare's face would contort as he hacked away at enemies with his spectral blade.
Lazare gave a small shake of his head. "No…I have too much of it inside of me, and I have held onto it for too long. I fully realize that." He sighed softly. "At first, it was something that simply kept me going when all I wanted to do was give up and die, but now…now it is simply part of who I am." Sighing again, he raised his head from Dorian's shoulder. "I try not to let it get in the way of us…" he said before drinking his tea in its entirety and then putting the cup down on the table. "I try so very hard, because you are the only other person I have ever opened my heart to…you breathed life back into my soul after four years of numb emptiness, and you don't deserve to be with someone who is so twisted by their anger," he added sadly.
"Amatus…" Dorian murmured while moving his hand up from Lazare's knee so he could gently turn his lover's face towards his. "You are more dear and precious to me than any other man I have ever known. I know I don't say it very often, but it is the truth." He rested his forehead against his lover's--his soulful, grey eyes gazing deeply into Lazare's emerald pools. "You are strong." He lightly rubbed his nose against Lazare's. "You are brave." Both his hands moved to tenderly cup his lover's face. "You are devoted." He kissed his lips tenderly. "And you are passionate about your convictions." He kissed him again. "And I wouldn't change a single thing about you." The kiss that followed was deeper and more lingering--his thumbs lightly brushing over Lazare's cheeks. "You are perfect the way you are, my beautiful man," he murmured against his lover's lips.
"I'm not nearly as perfect as you," Lazare murmured while resting his hands upon Dorian's shoulders—his thumbs slowly brushing against the warmth of his neck.
Dorian grinned cheekily. "Of course not, no one is as perfect as me," he replied with a chuckle before affectionately rubbing his nose against Lazare's--his eyes warm and loving. "But for what it's worth, Amatus…you are the closest anyone has ever come."
Retour en haut
