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Mahanon wasn’t sure how he had actually managed to make it to the bed before he collapsed onto it. The day had been…trying to say the least. The battle with Saarath had been long a grueling, leaving Bull with a large wound across his side, and Cole with a concussion. Dorian had been hurt as well Mahanon knew, but he’d merely knocked back a potion and pretended that he wasn’t using his staff to support his weight. Feeling the power surging in the anchor again Mahanon had run for the Eluvian, hoping to get away from his friends before it killed him. What he’d found instead, Solas in a field of stone Qunari, had clawed at every bit of patience and understanding Mahanon had ever possessed.
He’d figured out that Solas was Fen’Harel as soon as he’d seen the painting on the wall, and he’d let his shock and anger carry him through the following fight. When he finally confronted the man Mahanon could feel the rage boiling in him, feel the betrayal and hurt, but he hadn’t let it carry him. He talked, calmly, though he’d felt like screaming, and a part of him couldn’t blame Solas for his desires, as misguided as they were. And then the man was gone, as was Mahanon’s arm.
He’d stumbled out of the Eluvian, barely able to keep his balance from the combination of the sudden lack of pain from the now missing anchor, and the exhaustion weighing down his muscles. Dorian had caught him, holding him tightly enough to bruise, his tears dripping down Mahanon’s neck where his cowl had pushed back, and still Mahanon kept calm. He couldn’t break yet; the Exalted Council needed to be dealt with, his advisors told of Solas’ plans.
There had been an odd mix of shock, outrage, and satisfaction when Mahanon announced that they were disbanding the Inquisition. Teagan had seemed almost giddy with his apparent triumph, and Mahanon had to resist the urge to say something Josephine would kill him for. Cyril had looked like he’d swallowed a particularly sour lemon, no doubt worried what would happen to Celene now that the Inquisition wouldn’t be backing her. What had made him most certain that his decision was a good one, however, was Leliana’s small nod and half smile.
There had been a banquet to celebrate the end of the Exalted Council, but Mahanon had slipped out before anyone could try and greet him. Alone, he had made his staggering way down the winding corridors of the Winter Palace, doing his best to not meet a single person on his way back to his room. Once there, he all but collapsed, not caring if he wrinkled his clothes or mussed his hair.
There was a ball of…something inside him. Anger, hurt, sadness, the lingering sense that he’d made the wrong decision, that he should have done better, realized what was going on sooner. That he should have seen Solas for what he was. He pressed his face into the duvet, sucking in a breath that caught more than it should. He tried not to feel the stump laying awkwardly beside him. Tried not to feel that sense of loss and panic he got every time he tried to do something with his missing hand. Instead, he fisted his remaining hand in the covers, curling in on himself in a way he hadn’t done since he was a child.
There was a storm raging inside his head, and he couldn’t let it out. Couldn’t make it calm. He saw Bull, blood quickly pouring from the wound on his side, still standing, still fighting, but Mahanon could tell he was slowing. He saw Cole slammed against a rock by Saarath, falling limply to the ground, unmoving but for shallow breaths. He saw Dorian laying prone on the ground beneath a shade, terrified but determined, reaching for his staff just as the creature had reared back to strike.
They had all been fine, of course. Bull had managed to stay upright until Saarath was dead, and a combination of a potion and Mahanon’s limited healing abilities had closed the wound enough to get him to Stitches. Cole had lay still for only a moment before he was slamming his daggers into Saarath’s back, and Mahanon had managed to paralyze the shade with a well timed lightning strike so Dorian could get to his staff. Knowing this didn’t stop Mahanon from seeing an entirely diffenent outcome.
Bull bleeding out before they could get to him. Cole never waking back up, laying still and silent forever. Dorian’s beautiful face marred by blood and deathly still. Or, worse yet, defeating Saarath only to have the anchor flare again, brighter and more powerful than ever. He knew what it did to their enemies, it wasn’t hard to imagine what it would do to his friends. What it would do to him.
How would he be now, if he’d been the one to kill the man he loved? Would it feel like Myriani all over again, or would it be worse because he was the spider, instead of being protected from it? Not that he would have survived the blast, but that thought only made it worse. Despite what he was willing to give up to save the ones he loved, to do what was right, he was far from ready to die.
He was shaking now, he could feel it. Breath rasping harshly as he struggled to control the tide of emotions and images that threatened to swallow him whole. The click of the door shutting brought him back, and he jerked up to look around, lightning crackling at his fingertips.
Dorian stood in front of the door, leaning against it just enough to belay his own exhaustion. “No need to panic, Amatus. It’s only me,” he said, tone light and teasing until he truly saw Mahanon. “What is it?” his voice lowered now, worry and compassion coloring it. Mahanon pushed himself further upright, hiding the wince as his muscles protested.
“I-I…it’s nothing, Dorian. I’m fine.” he said, though he could hear the tightness and pain in his own voice. “You should…you should go back to the party. Have fun.”
Instead, Dorian made his way closer, taking a seat next to the elf. “You are a terrible liar, do you know that?” he asked, still gentle. Mahanon tried to smile, tried to push everything down because Dorian already had enough to worry about without him breaking down, but all he managed was a grimace that only made Dorian look more upset. “Talk to me, Amatus.”
But what was he to say? They were fine, despite all odds, and his worry and fear was for nothing. His guilt misplaced and he knew it. Dorian could do nothing about the anger he still felt at Ferelden and Orlais, at Solas, at the whole fucking world if he was honest. He took a deep breath, trying to think of something to say to comfort the man in front of him. All that came out was a choked sob.
In a heartbeat he was being pulled into Dorian’s arms, his face buried in his love’s shoulder, his tears dampening the fabric there. His chest ached as he sobbed silently into Dorian’s embrace, his own hand still fisted in the covers. Unbidden, words began to pour from his lips, muffled by cloth but still understandable. “I can’t lose you. Any of you. But that seems to be all this fucking world wants is for us to lose what we love.”
“Amatus-” Dorian began, but Mahanon cut him off, pulling back to look at him.
“I don’t have anyone, Dorian. I had my clan, but now they’re gone. I have you, but you’re going into the lion’s den by yourself and you don’t want me to follow. I had the Inquisition, our friends, but they all have something else to go back to, or to start fresh with. Varric told me that I have a house waiting for me in Kirkwall, but I have no idea how to live in a city. No idea what the humans are like there, or if I would ever feel welcome.” he paused, choking back another sob, trying to catch his breath.
“But you’re the Inquisitor. Surely that has to count for something in Kirkwall.” said Dorian, still trying to sound teasing, though Mahanon could hear that he was upset and that only made him feel worse. He never wanted to be the one to hurt Dorian. Not after all that he had been through.
“It didn’t count for anything with Ferelden or Orlais. Why would Kirkwall be any different?” he asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone. “All we did was give and give and save the fucking world twice over now and all they wanted to do was complain about our power. And they were right, Dorian. We were corrupt. All that we tried to do, all that we tried to fix, and we still ended up just like the Templars. Just like the Grey Wardens. And for what? Solas is still planning on destroying the world just to bring back some pantheon of arseholes that will fuck the world up again. At this point I’m almost tempted to let him.”
“You don’t mean that, Amatus.” said Dorian, brushing a tear away from Mahanon’s eyes.
He scoffed, tears spilling freely now, his head pounding fiercely. “Don’t I? Tell me, Dorian, what has this struggle gotten us? We fight the blights, and more come. We try to solve the problems between mages and Templars, and the sky gets ripped apart. We save the world from that, only to find out that the whole mess was caused by one of our own. At least if Solas succeeds, we won’t have to deal with it anymore. I won’t have to-” he broke off, curling in on himself once more, unable to continue that line of thought. He’d promised the Keeper that he would never let himself feel this again. Promised his mother that he would be strong, and not listen to the whispers of doubt. But fenedhis it was hard, and he was so tired.
“Mahanon…” Dorian started but seemed at a loss for words. He cleared his throat before trying again. “Mahanon, no matter what you must be feeling right now, you are not alone. We, all of us, will always be here for you. No matter what, I will always be here for you. Even in Tevinter, I’ll only be a sending crystal away, whenever you need me.”
Mahanon wanted to let this cheer his up. Wanted to smile and nod and kiss Dorian while thinking of promises of happily ever after, just like in Varric’s books. He couldn’t though. He was too sore, too tired, he hurt too much. “I know why you want to go back to Tevinter. I know you want to save your homeland, and I admire you for it. But fenedhis if I don’t also hate you for it.” Dorian froze, eyes going wide and Mahanon couldn’t stop the flood of guilt that rushed through him. This is why he never talked about these things. He didn’t want to make his problems someone else’s too.
“You said you were alright with my going back.” said Dorian, and Mahanon could hear the hurt behind the words. He sighed, trying fruitlessly to pull himself together.
“I’m…” he paused, shifting just enough to take the pressure off his now shaking arm. “I am but…never mind, I’m just being selfish.” he pulled in a breath, ignoring the knives in his gut, the tears in his eyes. He had to be better than this. He’d promised.
Despite the pain in his eyes, Dorian smiled. “My dear Mahanon, I truly doubt that there’s a selfish bone in your whole body.”
Mahanon gave a half-hearted, watery laugh. “Maybe if you had Cole’s abilities you’d disagree.” he said, “Ir abelas, ma vhenan. I’m being unfair to you. None of this is your fault.”
Dorian laughed, soft, gentle, but real. “You’re being unfair to me? As if I am not the one to ask you to wait for me while I try, single-handedly, to end the corruption in Tevinter.”
“Out of the two of us, you are the least likely candidate to be doing anything singlehanded.” said Mahanon, finally feeling that ball of rage and hurt ease, if only a little. To demonstrate his point, he waved his single remaining hand, finally unclenched from the covers. For a moment, Dorian looked as if he didn’t know either to laugh or cry.
“Is it hurting you?” he asked, gesturing to the stump.
Mahanon shook his head. “I know it’s…gone, and it feels odd. But no, it doesn’t hurt.” he said, finally letting himself relax back into Dorian’s warmth.
“I’m sorry, Amatus. Everything that you’ve done for all of us, everything that you've given up. This must seem like quite a shitty reward.” said Dorian, fingers idly playing with the folded over sleeve that covered the stump, his other hand massaging Mahanon’s back.
“I never did it to get a reward.” answered Mahanon, his eyes slipping shut, feeling swollen and rough now that the tears were stopping.
“I know, Amatus. I’d hoped you would get one, though. You deserve far more than this world will ever give you.” he muttered this into Mahanon’s hair before pressing a kiss to the tangled mess. “I do need to ask you for something, though.”
“What?” asked Mahanon, eyes sliding open again to look at Dorian, though the angle hurt his neck.
“I need you to stop hiding what you feel from me. Even if you think I won’t like it.” he said, his silver eyes boring into Mahanon’s pale blue. “I know that you didn’t tell me you were upset about me leaving to try and spare my feelings, but I hear that the key to a good relationship is communication. We can’t communicate very well if we leave things unsaid.”
“Get that from a ladies journal in Tevinter, did you?” asked Mahanon, teasing, if still a little strained.
“You’re deflecting, Amatus. Trust me, I know. It used to be my favorite sport.” answered Dorian, a small smile on his lips.
“I know, I just…I don’t like secrets. Not big ones. But I feel…selfish to put my burdens on someone else’s shoulders.”
“I want your burdens on my shoulders, Amatus. I want you smiles, your laughter, your tears. I’m a selfish man, Mahanon, and as such, I want all of you, the good and the bad. I’m even willing to accept that you kick in your sleep.” Dorian was full on smiling now, and it made that ball of discomfort in Mahanon’s stomach ease that much more. He returned the smile, and though he still felt stretched thin and raw, he also felt happy. He was with the man he loved, all his friends were alive, including Solas (though whether that was a good thing or a bad thing remained to be seen), and the Exalted Council was finally over. He could breathe for a moment.
“I wouldn’t have to kick if you didn’t hog the bed.” he said, shifting so he could wrap his arm around Dorian’s waist.
“Lies and slander.” said Dorian with a laugh.
“I am a heretic, remember?”
“All too well.” purred the man, his lips brushing Mahanon’s ear. The elf shivered slightly, though his body was far too exhausted to respond properly. Dorian obviously agreed, because a second later he was saying, “Now, we’d best get you out of those clothes before you fall asleep in them. Josie would throw a fit.”
“You’re hurt too, Dorian. You don’t need to push yourself to help me.” replied Mahanon, pulling away from his lover to finally get a better look at him. He was paler than usual, bronze skin grayish from exertion, but otherwise he seemed fine.
“Merely a twisted leg and a sore back, nothing I can’t handle. I believe you faired far worse, Amatus.” Though he didn’t say it, Mahanon knew that he was talking about the arm and his breakdown. Deciding that now was not the time to start an argument over who was more injured, Mahanon nodded.
At once Dorian began to undo the belt at his waist, tugging it loose. Then came the blue sash and the red coat. He wore only a thin undershirt beneath, something he had slipped on after his quick bath when they’d stumbled back out of the Eluvian. Sera had helped him dress, fixing buttons and the belt before pinning the sleeve with quick fingers. ‘Can’t leave it all floppy like that. Looks weird.’ she’d said quietly, sadly, and Mahanon had agreed.
It took Mahanon a second to realize that Dorian had paused, his eyes fixed on the stump before lithe bronze fingers were reaching out to gently caress the skin there. It was smooth and far less gnarled than any of the other amputations Mahanon had ever seen. Faint green lines swirled over the skin like scars; remnants of the anchor’s power. It had hurt while Solas’ spell worked through his flesh, almost melting his arm away, but then the pain was gone leaving only a perfectly healed stump behind. Mahanon still felt odd, almost sick looking at it, so he tried not to.
“I’m sorry.” said Dorian after a moment. “Does this bother you?”
“Not as long as I don’t look.” said Mahanon, fixing his eyes instead on Dorian’s black hair, admiring the way the candlelight glinted off it. A second later Dorian was bending, pressing a kiss to the marred skin. Mahanon closed his eyes, his sadness and pain over the loss of his arm warring with his love for Dorian and the gentleness he was capable of.
As soon as he straightened up Dorian went back to work, pushing Mahanon back on the bed to tug off his boots, socks, and trousers, leaving him in only his smalls. A small hint of arousal flared when Dorian’s fingers brushed over his sensitive thighs, but it was fleeting and unimportant.
“You’ll…stay with me tonight, won’t you?” he asked, and for some reason, he was afraid of the answer.
“Of course, Amatus.” replied Dorian without hesitation. “Though I may have to leave you for a moment to grab my night clothes.”
“You sleep naked, Dorian.” Mahanon reminded him, though he wasn’t sure why he needed to remind his lover of his own sleeping habits.
“I confess that I wasn’t sure you would want me too.” admitted Dorian, almost sheepishly. “It has been a very trying time, in part due to myself.”
“I didn’t mean it when I said I hated you.” Mahanon said, guilt rearing its ugly head again.
“Yes you did, Amatus. And I can hardly blame you.” Dorian replied with a small, sad smile. “I know because I hated you a little for running after Solas like you did. I know that you wanted to save us from the mark, but I…I can’t imagine…losing you.” his face crumpled, tears forming in his eyes, whatever control he’d had crumbling in the wake of his emotions. Mahanon wondered just how self-absorbed he’d been to not notice that Dorian was in pain as well. He pushed himself up awkwardly and pulled Dorian into a hug, holding the man as he had held Mahanon.
“Ir abelas, ma lath. I’m so sorry I scared you.” he muttered into Dorian’s sweet smelling hair. “I didn’t know how else to-”
But Dorian cut him off, “I know, Amatus. I know, and I would have done the same. But I…I love you too much to lose you.”
“Ar lath 'ma vhen'an. More than anything.” he felt Dorian’s fingers running over the old scars on his back under his shirt and sighed, letting his hand gently stroke Dorian’s side. A moment later he was pulling away, just far enough to plant a gentle kiss on Mahanon’s lips, his eyes dry once more. Mahanon knew that he was suppressing own pain once more, just as Mahanon himself did, but he would never push.
“I should get out of this, then.” he said, already working at the straps of his ridiculously complex costume. Mahanon couldn’t help but smile a little, remembering the first few times he tried to help Dorian undress before he’d learned to just let the man do it himself.
Despite the fact that he would normally give up anything to watch Dorian strip for him, he fell back on the bed, tired enough now that he couldn’t keep himself upright. He seemed to have dozed, because what felt like a second later he was aware of Dorian brushing his fingers through his hair, already naked with the candles dimmed. “Slide up the bed, Amatus, or you won’t be able to get under the covers.” he said quietly, helping Mahanon to sit up.
They settled under the plush blankets, Mahanon sighing as his muscles both relaxed and protested. He was going to be stiff by morning, and no doubt spend all of tomorrow in agony, but it was nothing he wasn’t used to.
Without a word Dorian fitted himself against Mahanon’s back, one perfectly muscled arm circling his waist to pull him closer, careful to avoid the stump.
“Goodnight, Amatus. Sweet dreams,” he said, pressing a kiss to Mahanon’s head, and he wanted desperately to reply, but he had already drifted off before he could.