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Sunlight poured in through the many windows of the Inquisitor’s lofty quarters. A breeze of freezing mountain air tickled the bare arm left outside of the covers bringing the sleeping elf to the edge of wakefulness. Phoenix shivered and buried her face into a pillow, sensing a dull ache radiating from her temples to the back of her skull. There was a warm, pleasant weight across her middle, and Phoenix leaned closer to the source of the heat. The arm around her tightened and she was pressed against a very warm and solid figure. Almost too warm. And definitely too broad.
“Huh?”, she muttered, and then remembered. It wasn’t Solas. Not anymore.
Hot tears threatened to spill out at the rawness of the recent hurt but Phoenix squeezed her eyes shut and willed them to stay back. No more tears. Not for him.
The furnace-like body holding her now belonged to her best friend instead of her lover - former lover, and she tried to let the steady rhythm of his breathing and the scent of sandalwood, musk and something citrusy lull her back to sleep. Just a little while longer in a blissful oblivion where she wouldn’t have to feel the steady prickling of the anchor in her arm, the cacophony of voices from the Well of Sorrows in her head and this new combination of rage, confusion and loss deep inside her chest.
Minutes passed but sleep continued to evade Phoenix while the parched state of her mouth grew more and more urgent. She couldn’t quite remember how many bottles of Antivan wine and brandy from Josephine’s secret stash her and Dorian had demolished the previous night but clearly one too many if her ever intensifying headache was anything to go by.
Carefully, Phoenix rolled away from her slumbering friend’s embrace and wrapped herself in a wool scarf. At the dip of the mattress Dorian hummed in his sleep but showed no further sign of wakefulness. Phoenix chuckled affectionately at the sight of him: dark hair tousled, face buried deep into a heap of pillows, hugging himself now that she had vacated the space by his side. Not a day went by that Phoenix wasn’t grateful - and utterly baffled by the deep bond of friendship between her and the man. The trust that they had for one another was as unshakeable as it was unlikely - a Tevinter noble and a Dalish elf.
On a side table across the room the water pitcher was empty. Of course it was. Phoenix pinched the bridge of her nose and heaved a deep sigh. She centred herself and directed a focused ice spell into the pitcher. Except that apparently hangover severely impaired her ability to cast precisely and, “Fenedhis!”, she cursed as the dish exploded with shards of ice and glass raining all over the floor, a few of them scraping the unfortunate mage’s arms and legs.
Dorian startled awake with a loud yelp, nearly rolling off the side of the lavish Orleasian bed. “Kaffas! Phoenix! What was that?”, he demanded. As his gaze met the elf’s resigned expression, his brows furrowing in worry. “Darling?”, he questioned softly.
Phoenix groaned, stepped over the mess and collapsed back in bed throwing an arm across her face. “I am useless”, she lamented, “I can’t even fill a fucking jug with ice without a mess. I bet Solas could do it in his sleep. Actually that’s probably how he would do it. In his sleep. In the Fade. I mean does he really care about anything that isn’t the Fade anyway? Do you think if I were a spirit he wouldn’t have just … dumped me without explanation? Wait. Do you think he has a spirit girlfriend? Did he leave me for a fucking spirit?! I can’t believe I fell for him...”
Dorian, still groggy from his interrupted sleep, gaped at the woman unsure when or how to interject. His early life hadn’t prepared him for intimate relationships, romantic or otherwise but the months he had spent with the Inquisition, by its highly expressive leader’s side had helped him shed some of the discomfort that unguarded, genuine emotions tended to cause him. After a moment’s hesitation, he simply placed a hand on his rambling friend’s shoulder. A sign of reassurance, he hoped. At that, Phoenix stopped her increasingly hysterical tirade, swallowed thickly and soon quiet sobs escaped her throat. “I- I just- wanted”, she stuttered as Dorian gathered her in a comforting embrace, “just wanted to melt-- some fucking ice to-- to drink. I’m so stupid! This-- everything… stupid, stupid, stupid”, she continued spluttering into Dorian’s chest.
“It’s alright my darling, I’ll pop out to see if Josephine can arrange some breakfast to be brought up”, he promised while combing his fingers through Phoenix’s hair. “Ooh! Imagine the shock my charmingly disheveled appearance in the great hall will cause to those pretentious Orleasian bootlickers parading outside of your chambers!”, he added excitedly, earning a choked giggle from the elf curled up against him. “We haven’t really fed the Skyhold rumour mill in a while, my friend. Utterly shameful, if you ask me. Oh, I know! I should go shirtless! That will really cause a stir.”
Dorian’s easy quips and the continuous motion of his fingers playing with her hair soothed the waves of Phoenix’s anguish. She pulled away from her friend slightly, wiping her eyes and faced him, offering a small smile.
“You never could pass up an opportunity to cause a scandal, “ she mused. “But really, Dorian, I don’t think there is anyone in the entire fortress, or Orlais for that matter, who doesn’t know of your preference in bed partners. Especially after you and Bull--”,
“Yes, yes, you will never let that misadventure go, will you?”, Dorian interrupted sighing dramatically. He was pleased to see the amused smirk on his friend’s tear-stained face even if it came at the expense of his memorable but short-lived dalliance with the gigantic Qunari. The less said about that particular experience the better, he thought, but the playful twinkle had returned to Phoenix’s eye, and he realised that he would voluntarily endure an eternity of his best friend’s merciless mocking and teasing if only to keep her heartache at bay for at least a little while.
“Now go ahead like a good little servant of the Inquisition and get us something to help with this bloody hangover. I don’t know about you but my head feels like it is simultaneously frozen solid and engulfed in flames”, Phoenix ordered feigning dismissal like a monarch to her subordinate.
Dorian rolled his eyes but played along sliding off the bed and offering an outrageously deep bow with an “of course your Most Holy Inquisitorialness”, delivered in a surprisingly accurate Orleasian accent. He then winked, twirled around theatrically and sauntered off with a deliberate sway of his hips. Phoenix whistled after him and was greeted with a pillow launched directly at her face. She fell back on the bed laughing.