Archive of Our Own ^beta

Born into a military family, Tarquin was more appreciated as a man than a woman. Not that anyone was grateful to know he’d been raised as one and came out as the other.

He knew few Tevene people of his status got the privilege to transition and live life as who they really were—hated or not. Marrying off was a good way to make money, after all, and plenty of folks like him had to run if they want to be true to themselves. He wasn’t much the running type either, and Tarquin didn’t know if he had the strength of the ones who left everything they knew to face racism abroad because of Tevinter’s earned reputation. They had slaves. Sacrificed them for power. Why not, when they could just buy more slaves? As long as no one was caught using blood magic on that scale, it wasn’t a problem. That was exactly the kind of nightmare he wanted to fight when he became an Imperial Templar, acting as a protector between power-hungry mages and the innocents they’d slaughter.

Or at least people who deserved a chance to restore what innocence they could.

And for the nerve of that, Tarquin was tossed in front of a desk to do administrative work. It wasn’t until he came across the Shadow Dragons that he found any kind of purpose he felt proud of.

Ashur reminded him that paperwork was where secrets could be found. That his superiors, who hated him, let Tarquin get his hands on those files and it meant he had a chance to make a difference from that desk. And of course, on missions for the Dragons where it wouldn’t be traced back to Tarquin. The big, bulky mage with a dramatic flair had been looking out for him since day one. Even though Tarquin bristled at being fussed over from the start. Ashur, he never gave up. All the prickliness in the world couldn’t get past his thick skin and make him leave Tarquin alone.

It was new, strange, and almost frightening when he realized he liked having Ashur around. An altus mage as a Shadow Dragon was weird enough. One that liked Tarquin? There weren’t enough reasons to be suspicious after a while. When he finally got Ashur to stop for a second and play a round of Wicked Grace with him, Tarquin realized he had a friend for life in that man.

That was how it was supposed to go.

Ashur was asleep beside Tarquin now, for once, the deep black of the Blight around his eyes. The warmth of his dark skin had paled. He was still broad-shouldered and strong, especially for an altus mage. But how long would that last? Seeing Ashur, the Viper, dozing off on a seat cushion... That ridiculous face mask was gone already when he sat with Tarquin to talk strategy for Minrathous. The Venatori rule kept them all busy, particularly with so many Dragons and their contacts gone. Tarquin gambled that the paperwork he worked with so often would finally be enough to tire Ashur out enough to sleep, and he’d been very lucky to be right. It wouldn’t work twice. The stubborn bastard would brew coffee next time.

But for now, with this quiet moment, Tarquin got to take his coat off and drape it over Ashur. He put aside all the other papers and got to work on another letter to those sappy Wardens. He said the last one would be the final message. Neve said that Antoine and Evka had their hands full in the Wetlands. But she’d deliver as many letters as he asked, if she knew it was for Ashur. And she always seemed to know.

Romance never made a lot of sense to Tarquin. Ashur had agreed whenever they talked about it. A lifelong bond outside of all those expectations had never seemed possible, and once he had something like that to hold onto, the Blight wanted to take it from him. He’d be damned to the Deep Roads himself before he let Ashur go without a fight. The Viper fought for Minrathous, and Tarquin fought for him. He always would.