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Dorian sat on a very comfortable chair near an ornate bed. Everything in the Winter Palace was decorated with careful consideration for its noble guests and the room given to the Inquisitor was no exception. Shame he was in no mood to appreciate any of it. The room was dark. The curtains were drawn and no candles or mage-lights were lit.
It was hard to read with how little light streamed from the covered window. He was supposed to be reading to pass the time but he hadn’t been able to concentrate on the words. His thoughts were a storm inside his head. Violent and loud, sweeping any rationality from his mind. It had been a trying couple of days. He hadn’t slept much. He wanted to be there for Ulrich when he woke again. Last time...last time he hadn’t been. He had but stepped away to freshen up and speak to Vivienne and Bull about the Inquisitor’s condition when he heard a roar from the bedroom. He rushed back with Vivienne and Iron Bull close on his heels. The others were smart enough to allow only him to approach Ulrich.
The man had awoken, disoriented and in pain frantically trying to get his bearings. He’d had no control of his magic. Dorian had never seen his amatus lose control like that. Lashing out like a wild beast. Ice was spreading around the bed and when he stepped closer he’d conjured solid splinters to defend himself. He’d hurt him. Dorian had healed himself but he remembered the dozen, tiny icicles that had embedded in his arms. It took a lot of strength to wrestle Trevelyan down again. And minutes of whispered platitudes and caresses to calm him. The sound of his sobbing still echoed in Dorian’s ears. He’d held his stump of an arm stiffly, as far away from the rest of him as he could. His heart was pained from the memory. The way he’d said Dorian’s name...He never wanted to hear it again, not like that. As a pitiful moan of anguish ripped from the very depths of the Void.
Dorian squeezed his eyes shut. They burned. But he was so tired of crying already. He tried to get back to the book in his hands. He let out a huff of laughter. The Chant. He was reading the fucking Chant of Light. He hadn’t meant to. It was just there on the table by the bedside. His faith had been tested before but it wasn’t until a few days ago that it was truly shaken. Elven gods? In their midst? Ancient wars and immortals. And the man he loved laying on a bed, broken and traumatized because he had been chosen and elevated as holy. He was sick of it all. And yet, he had still picked up the Chant and read the familiar passages.
He sighed and stood. He pushed the drapes aside and looked out the window. It seemed the sky had no concerns about the state of the world. It was bright and clear. So unlike the tempest raging inside of him, inside of them all right now. They healed the sky before, though. Maybe they could patch the world again. Maybe-
He heard a rustling and looked back. Ulrich groaned and raised one of his...raised his remaining hand to rub his eyes. Dorian stood still, waiting for a reaction. It happened fast as it did the last time, he supposed. The man stiffened and then began to tremble. Frantically he looked around searching and his eyes landed on Dorian.
“Dorian?” He croaked. “It was real, wasn’t? This...this is real.”
His voice was empty and Dorian couldn’t take it. He approached the bed and stood by him.
“Yes.”
Ulrich closed his eyes tightly and his lip trembled. A moment later his hand was covering his face and he was shaking. His upper body shuddering, trying to hold his emotions inside. It didn’t matter. Tears still flowed, sobs still escaped his mouth. When he started breathing much too quickly Dorian sat next to him and touched his arm.
“Amatus.” He said firmly even if he was panicking inside. “Breathe. Come on. Here, give me your hand.”
Ulrich shook his head. But Dorian didn’t relent. He pried his hand away from his face. Carefully as if not to spook him. Then held his palm between his own.
Ulrich looked at their hands and sniffled.
“Now, breathe. You have to calm down. We can’t have you straining yourself like last time.”
“I thought it was a nightmare. I thought I would wake up.” he looked up. “It hurts, Dorian.”
Dorian saw his other arm move under the sheets and the man winced. Phantom pain. Damn it all.
“I’m not the greatest of healers but I can-” he went to pull back the sheets but Ulrich blocked him. “Ulrich, let me help you.”
“I don’t want you to- I can’t. I can’t watch. How does it hurt!? How can I still feel pain in my hand?”
Dorian shushed him and let him breathe through it until he regained some semblance of calm. Dorian sighed. He was still holding his right hand and it had become chilly. So cold it almost burned his skin. Ulrich noticed and pulled his hand back.
“I’m so sorry.” He touched Dorian’s arms and frowned. “I thought-”
“Vivienne healed them,” said Dorian.
“I didn’t mean to. I thought you were him. I couldn’t see well.”
Dorian gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to hear about the elf.
“Shush. I know it was an accident. Your last memory was only pain. I understand.” He brushed Ulrich’s sweaty hair away from his forehead.
There was silence for a time. A tense silence where Dorian waited, holding his breath, for the next frantic episode. But it didn’t come. He didn’t know if that was better or worse. He risked a glance at the Inquisitor’s face and didn’t like what he saw one bit . His gorgeous eyes, those bright blues he adored, were dull and sunken. He had dark circles under his eyes and his nose and cheeks were flushed from the salt of his tears. Dorian knew he didn’t cry in front of anyone or for any reason. But right now the mage didn’t feel privileged, he felt heavy. He felt lost and impotent.
“What am I going to do?” Ulrich whispered.
Dorian frowned. “What was that, amatus?”
“I’m broken, Dorian. I...I’m not whole. I can’t even use my magic. I’m like a child! I hurt you! Oh, Maker. What if I had killed you?”
Dorian huffed and shook Ulrich’s shoulder roughly, making the man look at him again.
“What in damnation are you going on about!? Amatus, you are alive! Alive , Ulrich! I thought you lost to me! When I saw the green veins scurrying up your arm I thought ‘This is it. This curse is what takes him from me,’ and we said our goodbyes.” Dorian let out a humorless laugh. “I never expected—he cradled the man’s head in his hands—“I never expected to hear your voice again. To feel you again.” His voice cracked.
He lowered his head until their foreheads touched. Dorian felt tears running down his cheeks.
“Dorian.” Ulrich whispered. “I never expected to return. I didn’t want to die. But I never expected to survive. I don’t know how to live like this. I’m not me. This is not me.” Ulrich’s trembling hand pressed against his love’s hand on his cheek.
“You stupid man!” Dorian pressed his forehead against him. “You’ll learn. We’ll.figure.it.out! You’re alive ,” He stressed the word so he could get it through his thick skull. Dorian smiled. “And I have you here, with me.”
Ulrich scoffed, a frown knitting his brows. This was good. Angry and stubborn, Dorian could handle. Much better than utter despair and self-disgust.
“How? I am useless. I won’t be able to use my staff! My balance is terrible. I won’t even be able to dress myself!” the man growled.
“Ssh. Ssh. You are not useless. You are a capable man, a mage, the Inquisitor.” Dorian said. He stroked the other man’s cheek.
Ulrich moaned, “I won’t be able to hold you, Dorian.”
Dorian froze. There was not enough air in the room to breathe and his chest felt tight after he heard those words. His amatus was staring at him with those haunted, desperate eyes. He let out a shuddering breath and shook his head. He pressed his mouth to Ulrich’s in a soft kiss, barely moving his lips. More comfort than anything else. When he pulled back he smiled at the man he loved and said,
“Then I’ll hold you, amatus.”
Ulrich sobbed and Dorian held him against his chest. He’d thought he’d lost him forever once. No matter what happened now, they’d get through it. And if Death tried to take him again? Well, Dorian would just have to find a way to beat the bastard down.