Chapter Text
Maxwell Trevelyan stepped out of Josephine’s office, frowning to himself.
Leliana prided herself on knowing everything that happened at Skyhold, no matter how trivial or insignificant. However, after considering and discarding several possibilities, the source of the Inquisitor’s displeasure was still a mystery. And not knowing was unacceptable.
As she stepped up to him, the frown disappeared. Fortunately the Inquisitor appreciated her tendency to choose the direct approach, so she didn’t mince words. “Something wrong, Inquisitor? You look troubled.”
“What? Oh, no, it’s nothing,” he said hastily, but then he tilted his head, regarding her, clearly debating something. “Then again...”
He made a gesture for her to follow. Once they had passed out of the hall, away from prying ears, did he speak again.
“You remember the... trouble my family caused, shortly after I became Inquisitor?”
Of course Leliana remembered. She had gone to great lengths to quell the vicious rumors, as well as root out one of the Inquisitor’s distant relatives who had been spying on the Inquisition. “Calling it ‘trouble’ is putting it mildly,” she said. “So, then. There are new developments?”
“Since Corypheus’s defeat, my immediate family has renewed its interest in their wayward son. Mostly in the form of letters with an invitation that I return home.”
Leliana studied him. She knew more about the Trevelyans than Max was aware. Not that he’d made any secret of his past or his feelings about his family. According to Leliana’s sources, however, the estrangement from his family began when his magic had manifested itself at the age of ten, and, as a result, he’d been quickly dumped in the nearest Circle, and forgotten. They’d only remembered him when they needed to send a representative to the Conclave to try to work things out between the mages and the Templars. “A proposition which does not entice you.”
“No. Which is why I’ve asked Josephine to respond to them, with the excuse that I’m too busy rebuilding the world.”
“Which is not untrue.”
Max looked grateful for this small support. “However, in the last missive they sent... well, they’re coming. To Skyhold.”
“I see.” Leliana became thoughtful. “Certainly we could devise some amusements, distract them, so you would not have to linger in their company any longer than protocol dictates.”
Max huffed a lock of hair out of his eyes. “Seeing them isn’t exactly the problem.” He sighed. “Dorian says...” here the usual smile whenever the Inquisitor talked about his lover lit up his face “...well, he’s talked me into giving family reconciliation a chance. Says it’s ‘good for the soul’. And, since it was me who forced Dorian to confront his own father... let’s just say that he’s been enjoying lording that over me a little too much.”
“The Chantry says that forgiveness is divine.”
“I don’t promise forgiveness. However, I am willing to listen to what they have to say.”
That was their Inquisitor – always reasonable. “So. What is the problem exactly?”
“The problem is that my family expressed the keenest desire to meet my closest companion.” Max’s frown now returned in full force. “The Lady Pavus.”
Bubbles of laughter rose in her throat. She managed to keep them from erupting, and did her best to keep her expression neutral. “I see. That is an interesting predicament.”
“Any thoughts on how news, however skewed, of my romantic interests has spread all the way to Ostwick?”
“It isn’t surprising at all. Stories of your feats have spread all over Thedas. People want to know who the real Inquisitor is – what you’re like, what sort of spells you can cast, if you’re really as handsome as rumors say you are – so of course they’re going to speculate about any romantic interests you have, as well.”
Max beamed. “Do they really say I’m handsome?”
“And modest,” Leliana returned with a smile. “Obviously Dorian hasn’t been rubbing off on you.”
Max blinked, then he sniggered. “Well, at least in one sense he has.”
“What? Oh! That’s not what I meant, Inquisitor.”
Max just grinned wickedly.
Being the target of the Inquisitor’s teasing? Leliana didn’t like it. But two could play at that game. “I think I have a solution to your problem, Inquisitor. I shall inform the seamstress that you require her services.”
A crease formed between Max’s brows. “The seamstress?”
“Indeed. And what color ballgown do you think Dorian would like? With his eyes, I think he’d look lovely in green.”
Max opened his mouth, but no words came out. By his appalled expression, no doubt he was picturing Dorian in a dress. Hopefully with jewel-encrusted dancing slippers.
Pleased, Leliana smiled, then relented. “Leave it to me, Inquisitor. I will make certain that word slips about the real gender of your lover to your family before any formal introductions are made, to avoid any awkward misunderstandings.”
Relief washed over his face. “Thank you, Leliana.”