Chapter Text
Inquisitor V’rael Lavellan was exhausted and eager to return to Skyhold. The Western Approach had drained most of him and the Frostbacks were taking what was left. They were bitterly cold and the small band of soldiers and scouts accompanying his party were making slow work of them. They had been on the road for weeks and Lavellan was developing sores from all the riding. To make matters even more uncomfortable, he was still finding sand everywhere. It was in the crevices of his clothes, his boots, eyes, ears, and other unmentionable places. He would never be rid of it. They would bury him and find a small trail of it leading to his grave. The snow didn’t help either. It melted into his clothes and made the sand stick to every surface. V’rael pulled his coat tighter in a vain effort to keep out the cold. Soon, he thought, Soon I’ll be home. V’rael laughed at himself, Since when was Skyhold home? He was Dalish and Dalish didn’t have homes. They had people, they had clans. Home wasn’t a building with walls. It was a story by the fire, the Keeper’s wise words, and the creak of the aravelles. It was his first hunt, his vallaslin, and his heritage. None of those things were at Skyhold and the memories of them seemed so distant now, like they belonged to someone else. They were faded and blurry; reflections on water instead of polished glass. A bitterness welled up in him. He hadn't meant to remember. I can't go back not now, after everything that has happened. Not after the conclave, I've changed. Some of the changes were painful, the anchor for instance. The green glow of it seeped out occasionally from under his glove. Other changes were not painful at all. They were glorious. An image of Dorian flashed in front of his eyes. He wished Dorian was with him now, he could use a smile or a quip about “blighted Southern weather”. He pushed the image away. Thinking about Dorian made his chest tighten.
“If I never see snow again,” said Vivenne, “It will be too soon. Such a shame I have an excellent view of it from my window. I’ll have to have a wall built.”
“I’ll just be happy to have this shirt off,” said The Iron Bull.
Cole remained silent. Presumably distracted by thoughts of all the uncomfortable soldiers surrounding them. It was difficult not to feel hurt when everyone around him was sore and tired. He thought of all his companions warm and safe back at Skyhold. An idea struck him then. I haven’t lost my clan, thought Lavellan, I’ve just changed the faces. When did these people become so important? He wondered what all of them were doing: Varric was either writing a novel or playing wicked grace and researching one. Cassandra, as usual, would be in the yard, hacking away at a stuffed dummy. V’rael couldn’t remember a day when she didn’t ruthlessly attack something with a sword. Sera was up to something devious, or she was planning to be and Blackwall was in the stables whittling something and waiting for news of the Wardens. He imagined Solas in his study preparing a new section of wall for paint. The empty space would taunt him, waiting for him to make a decision. His advisors, without a doubt, would be waiting in the war room to squabble over minute details. Vrael sighed there was only one person left to think about. So he did.
Taking Dorian to the Western Approach had been out of the question. He had sustained too many injuries in the Emerald Graves and for some reason, none of them were healing properly. Getting Dorian back to Skyhold in one piece was quite the task. Normal spells and conventional magic were not working at all. Solas thought it had something to do with a strange demon they had encountered at a fade rift. If only I had been faster, thought Lavellan, The forsaken thing wouldn’t have struck him so hard. The healers said not to worry, that none of the wounds were life threatening. Even the gash on Dorian’s back would heal perfectly well once the non-magical physician stitched it up. He just needed time to heal naturally. “He’ll be fine,” they said, but V’rael wasn’t convinced and worried anyway. He’s sleeping so much.He’s only awake a few hours a day. Surely there is something someone can do? But nothing worked they would just have to wait.
“I will watch him Lethallan,” said Solas, “You can not keep the Wardens waiting any longer.” And V’rael really couldn’t. Reports came in daily suggesting that the situation in the Western Approach was getting dire. So Lavellan left reluctantly and wracked with guilt. It still stung even now, weeks later. He shook his head to banish the thoughts, but he couldn’t rid himself of the sinking pit that was his stomach. It twisted into knots threatening to make him sick. He urged his horse faster to distract himself. He caught up with the Captain of his guard moments latter.
"How much longer, Remings?" he asked, doing his best to speak clearly over the wind.
"Not long now, your worship," shouted the Captain, "A few more hours, half a day at most and we should see battlements."
"Can we pick up the pace?"
"I wouldn't advise it. Snow’s looking pretty thick, we'll wear the horses out. We're pushing our limits as it is."
"As you say Captain."
V'rael slowed his horse and fell back to avoid further conversation. He distracted himself by thinking of all the things Dorian could be doing that very moment: He’s reading a book of ancient Teventer spells. It’s a futile exercise because half of them are missing or incomplete, but he’s too stubborn to give up. He’s drinking in the tavern with the Chargers. The wine is shitty but he doesn’t care. It will give him another reason to open that bottle of Antivan Ariato Vint-4 when V’rael gets back. He’s playing chess with Cullen and teasing him mercilessly, because when he plays with me and I lose, I take off clothes. The thoughts eventually led to one he’d been avoiding at all costs. He remembered saying goodbye:
Dorian was in the Inquisitor’s quarters. Lavellan almost had to have him forcibly placed there, but in the end Dorian conceded, grumbling about gossip and rumors under his breath. At the moment he was laying in V’rael’s bed, reading a poorly translated Teven novel. He looked ready to fall asleep at any moment. V’rael sat down at the edge of the bed, careful not to make any sudden movements and disturb Dorian’s wounds.
"I hate you seeing me like this," he said, "It's not really fair now is it? My hair is a mess. You, however, look stunning and deadly." The armor didn’t escape his notice, “Off to battle?"
V'rael told him about the mission. He tried his best not make direct eye contact.
"I don't suppose you could carry me there on a stretcher? No? Well then I'll just have to stay and keep your bed warm won't I?" Dorian tried to laugh, but it came out a gasp. V'rael wanted to scream he felt so helpless.Of course V'rael couldn't take Dorian. He could barely sit up. V'rael couldn't believe he was leaving and he was so angry that circumstances made it necessary. He looked away, frustrated and ashamed.
As if reading the Inquisitor's mind Dorian said, "Don't. It's alright. Go." Dorian placed a bandaged hand on V’rael’s cheek.
"Amatus." He said the last word with such unrestrained tenderness, V’rael thought he might cry. The gesture and the words were out of place for Dorian. Even in private Dorian was rarely so openly tender, usually such moments came with a joke or a tease. Before any emotion could overcome him, V'rael lifted Dorian's hand, kissed his fingers softly, one at a time, and placed his hand back on the bed. He couldn’t bare to look at Dorian’s face. He stood to leave, walked across the room and without turning back and said, "I'll be back. In three weeks, just three weeks. Promise you won't go anywhere?"
"I wouldn't dream of it,” said Dorian sleepily, “I can't have you jumping into the Fade to drag me back out now can I?" V’rael, unable to resist any longer, turned to look at Dorian once more. But he was already asleep. V'rael left as quietly as he could. He didn't speak again until his company was hours on the road.
"It was a bad joke," said Cole, "He didn't mean it."
V'rael sighed. Of course Cole was listening to his thoughts. They were pitiful thoughts, sad, morbid thoughts. Cole wouldn't be able to help himself.
"I know Cole. He just didn't want me to worry."
"But it didn't work."
"Yeah he really put his foot in his mouth with that one. I blame the stab wound, normally he's much more cheery."
"But his foot is too far,” said Cole perplexed, “ And it wouldn’t fit. But he likes the taste of yours and the way you sound after he’s-"
"Cole!"
Bull laughed, "Maybe not after all this sand. Too gritty.”
The Iron Bull was much closer that V'rael realized and he was certain that little bit of information was going to come back up after Bull had a few drinks. V'rael was just glad he was a few paces ahead of everyone. His face must be beet red.
After a few moments of precious silence, Cole asked, "Inquisitor?”
“Yes Cole?”
“Why is it backwards? I don't understand. The closer we are the more it hurts."
"You mean to Skyhold?" V'rael knew that wasn’t what Cole meant.
"To Dorian."
"Oh," V'rael tried to put the feelings into words,"I suppose it's because I'm impatient and the farther we are the easier it is to focus on other things and to forget. We're too close now, it's all I can think of."
"But you don’t really want to forget. Not Dorian. Even though it hurts.”
It wasn’t a question. “No I suppose not.”
“Will you break?"
"Break?"
"From the hurt? A burning, aching, throbbing, so close, so close. His hand on my skin, such sweet words. His mouth, I'm going to burst-"
"Creators, Cole! Could you at least lower your voice?"
“Sorry.”
Bull laughed even louder, "Oh I'm sure he'll break, Cole. Maybe more than once! Right Boss?"
"Really now," said Vivienne feigning shock, "There is no need for such crass discussion." But she didn't sound very sincere. V’rael suspected she was hiding a smile. Great, thought V'rael, Everyone is listening. Could he really blame them though? There was nothing else to do on this blasted mountain. Any distraction from the cold was a welcome one. He wondered how many of his guard had overheard.
"No Cole," said V'rael before anyone else could comment, "I'm not going to ‘break’." He was feeling uncomfortably hot. He wished Cole would stop.
"Inquisitor?"
"Yes Cole?" V'rael wasn't sure how much more he could take.
"He wasn't angry, he knew you had to. He understood."
"Thanks Cole. That actually really helps.” And it did. He felt surprisingly relieved. Sometimes Cole knew exactly what to say.
-----
The next few hours went by quietly, the change in altitude brought sharp biting winds that made it even more difficult to speak. V'rael tried to catch a few moments sleep in the saddle, but all he met with were nightmares of arrows, blood and smoke. Eventually he recognized some of the landscape. V'rael smiled. It meant that they were on the final stretch of the return trip. There was more snow on the road than expected. It made the going slow and they only had a couple more hours of daylight.
"Your worship?" said the Captain. He had made his way back to have a quick word.
"Yes Captain? We're nearly there aren't we? Only a couple more hours?"
"Yes, Inquisitor. However," he paused trying to decide something, "I thought we'd take the pass instead of the usual way. We'd make better time. All this excess snow is making me nervous. It's slowed us down too much. I'm worried we'll get caught out in the dark if we go the way we had originally planned. And I don't know if the men can take another night out in the cold, not when we're so close."
Not just the men, thought V’rael. Another night in the snow would probably drive him mad as well.
“We all have someone we want to get back to,” added Remings. He had a family, the Inquisitor remembered, a wife and two girls all of them at Skyhold.
It was a difficult choice. The pass was steep, likely covered in snow and unseen dangers. They would have to backtrack half a mile or so as well. But it was shorter, much shorter, and with only a couple more hours of daylight it might be the better option. Nights in the Frostbacks could be deadly. The usual way was safer but, if they lost the sun, it would be too dangerous to continue and they'd be forced to make camp till morning.
"We'll take the pass," said V'rael, without a moment’s hesitation.
It wasn’t long before they spotted the pass. It was narrow and deceptively steep. For safety it was best to go single file. A scout went first, then the Captain and the rest of the forward guard. Skyhold was obscured behind the snow-covered and heavily wooded rise to their right, but there, just above the treeline, V’rael could see an Inquisition banner fluttering in a stiff wind. It was so small he almost missed it. His heart began to race. We’re so close, he thought, Soon, soon. His hands began to shake in anticipation. The forward guard was making good time, Vivienne followed next, then Cole. He’s in the library sitting in that tacky Orlesian arm chair with a perfect view of the courtyard. He’s been waiting for days and can’t seem to concentrate the book he’s been reading. He doesn’t even know the title. Bull went next. He’s so wide, V’rael worried he might fall. He waited for Bull to make it most of the way down before he started. Dorian would see him enter the gate. He’d do his best to restrain himself and make his way calmly to the entrance of the keep. He’d fail and start running. He’d want to be the first person I met on returning. Lavellan was halfway down the pass, his rear guard close behind him. He’ll meet me breathless and smiling. He’ll chastise me for being late, but his eyes will be kind and his hair windswept from running. Just a bit farther and he’d be there. Skyhold would be visible around the next bend. I’d dismount and close the space between us. Our lips would meet and time would stop. We’d start four new rumors in the process. We’d only part long enough for him to say-
But V’rael’s thoughts were interrupted. He was falling. At the last and most treacherous bend, the wind picked up. A tree not far above them, heavy with snow and ice, fractured. The tree did not fall far, but the deluge of snow and the sound spooked his horse. It reared knocking V’rael off balance and sending him tumbling down the side of the left rise. He met the snow covered hill quickly, landing on his left shoulder. He heard it snap rather than felt it. There wasn’t enough time to process anything, he was moving too fast. Panic and momentum paralyzed him. Everything was a blur and he would have kept falling if it hadn’t been for the trees. He hit one, two, three, and then a low hanging branch of another. It was the branch that stopped him. Without the movement, all he could feel was pain. He was on his back. His left arm felt wrong. It twisted at an odd angle and there was a sharp pinching feeling in his left side. One of his legs he couldn’t tell which, was wet and hot. There was something sticky seeping down his face. Everything seemed twice as bright. There were shouts and screams above him, but he was only mildly aware of them. Through the branches he could see it. A patch of sky. It was a beautiful shade of blue. I can see it through the window. The day’s too beautiful for me to leave. Just a little more time. He’s asleep. I have to be quiet or I’ll wake him. Then everything went black.