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"How dare you look more handsome than me today."
Fenris laughed softly, kneeling next to Dorian's bed. He held Dorian's hand, old and weathered, in his left. His right was gone, amputated years ago after a fight with a would-be assassin who decided that he would try to usurp the Archon's seat through violence. Fenris took the blow meant for Dorian, the poison from the knife making everything from his fingers to the middle of his forearm necrotic. His sleeve was pinned shut now with an ornamental brooch, a gift from Dorian on their thirtieth anniversary together.
"You do look gorgeous," Dorian said. He started to say something else, then broke off, coughing.
Fenris retrieved the pewter bucket, then helped his lover turn on his side to vomit. The illness that gripped him was getting worse every day. He wiped Dorian's mouth and held a cup of water to his lips, letting him rinse and spit. Setting everything aside, he eased into the bed, Dorian curling close. He was burning up, the fever never seeming to leave him lately. The best healers in Thedas came to the same conclusion. The illness, whatever it was, was claiming Dorian's life. Good arm wrapped around Dorian's shoulders, he played with his lover's hair, which was grey now, though long and slightly wavy.
"Do you want a bath?" Fenris asked.
"Maybe. Maybe one more before…"
He trailed off, unable to finish his sentence. Fenris remembered the healers all delivering the same news. Dorian was dying. There was nothing that could be done except to make him comfortable. The last three months he'd been declining more rapidly, unable to move from bed, wracked with pain, coughing up blood, vomiting. He'd long since named an heir, someone to take over his duties, who would uphold the new laws of Tevinter and continue changing it for the better, and quietly retired. Fenris took care of him with the aid of a few paid servants who would do things that required two hands. Cooking and cleaning. But Fenris let no one care for Dorian except himself.
"Terribly undignified and beneath your station."
That's what Dorian had said, as Fenris fed him and took care of his chamber pot. But Fenris didn't care. Dorian would have done it for him had their situations been reversed. Over sixty years together, and every day Fenris was grateful for the time he had with Dorian. He watched him change from a cocky, arrogant, self-absorbed young man into a… well, he was still cocky and arrogant, but dignified now. And caring. A man who changed his country, who made people challenge the status quo and question themselves.
"I'll run the bath."
"Wait," Dorian said, grabbing weakly at his shirt. "Can you get someone else to do it? I just want you to stay with me. For as long as possible for right now."
Fenris kissed the top of his head. "Yes."
He rang the bell for one of their servants and ordered the bath brought in and filled. Fenris lay back with Dorian against his chest, gently running his fingers through the long silver locks. He felt Dorian trembling against him, face slowly turning so it was buried in his shirt. And when the door closed again after the tub was full, Fenris felt the hot tears soaking the fabric against his chest. It wasn't the first time Dorian cried in his arms, but today was different, and Fenris took a deep breath, holding back his own tears. He needed to be strong for Dorian, especially today.
When he was sure he could speak without his voice breaking, he nudged him gently. "Up so I can help with your nightshirt."
Dorian rolled off him weakly, sniffling quietly. "I should be ashamed of myself, sobbing like a baby."
"Considering the circumstances," Fenris said, pulling the covers back, "I think it's a perfectly acceptable time to cry."
"You're not."
"I won't," he lied.
"You don't have to do that," Dorian said tiredly.
"Yes, I do," Fenris said, smiling tight-lipped and mirthlessly. He slid an arm under Dorian's shoulders, helping him sit up and together they peeled the sweat-soaked night-shirt off him. With some effort, he slid the stump of his right arm under Dorian's legs, cradled him close with his good one and stood up, back aching, knees protesting.
Dorian pulled himself up carefully and kissed Fenris's wrinkled cheek, eliciting a true smile from him. "I love you."
Fenris lowered him into the water, not minding as his sleeves became wet. Nothing would matter soon, after all. "How are you feeling?"
"Relaxed. Can you add the jasmine oil?"
Fenris did, swirling the water before sitting next to the tub. He unbuttoned his sleeve with his teeth and rolled it up carefully.
"I could have done that for you."
"No, today is your day," Fenris insisted. "Is this all you want?"
Dorian nodded. "Just you. Yesterday was…"
"I know."
Yesterday Dorian said all his good-byes. He handled it as he handled all things in life, with dignity and pride, sitting straight in the wheelchair with concentrated effort, blanket over his lap to hide the tremors in his knees that happened on occasion.
"I'm sorry."
Fenris took his hand. "Don't apologize."
"I just wanted-"
"Dorian. I understand."
And he did. It was a miracle Dorian was still alive, his diagnosis hanging heavily over the both of them. They'd heard 'six months' and 'within a year' and many other time estimates. But how many of those months would be marked with Dorian's health in a continuous decline? He couldn't walk anymore, his strength gone. Eating was becoming a chore, waking every morning with a touch of nausea. He slept poorly and was in pain more often than he wasn't. Sleeping was difficult, so much that Fenris had taken to sleeping in another bed in the same room so as not to disturb him.
Fenris took his hand from the water and brought it to his lips, then pressed it against his cheek. "I will always love you."
A dry sob turned into a rattling cough, and Fenris moved behind Dorian, helping him sit a little, rubbing his back until it passed.
"Sleep if you need to," Fenris urged.
"No. I want to be with you."
"You are with me," Fenris pointed out.
"I want to be awake with you. It's just a few hours longer."
Fenris swallowed the lump forming in his throat and blinked back tears. "Yes, all right."
"Talk to me. Tell me of something. A story. I just want to hear your voice." Dorian closed his eyes, his breathing heavy and wheezy.
Fenris continued to hold his hand, and talked. It was a tale that he remembered from their days with the Inquisition, a fight with red templars and a giant and then a demon. They emerged victorious as they always did. And when he finished the tale, Dorian was smiling.
"I'll miss your stories."
Fenris merely looked down. He was trying to stay strong. "I know," he managed.
They sat in silence for a bit longer until the water became cold, the tub – padded though it was – too uncomfortable anymore for Dorian to lay in it. Fenris struggled but picked him up, laying him on his own bed.
"Your mattress is going to be soaked," Dorian commented.
"It doesn't matter. I'll have someone change the bedding," Fenris assured him. What he wanted to say, however, was, 'It doesn't matter. I won't need it much longer.'
He dried Dorian off and helped him dress. Not in a nightshirt like he'd been wearing nearly all the time, but in proper clothing. Rich fabric, silks and velvets. A fancy Antivan leather belt and thick boots. After, he placed him back in bed and called for the servants again to remove the tub. They cleaned the room yesterday from top to bottom in preparation for today, and Fenris had them take away the chamber pot and the vomit bucket along with the tub.
"Are you hungry? Did you want to eat before-"
"No," Dorian said, shaking his head a little. "I'm not hungry. But you should eat."
"No, I'm fine." Fenris hadn't had an appetite for some time. It was difficult to eat when you had to watch your lover waste away. But he did when Dorian slept, if only keep up his own strength to help him when he needed it. "Do you want anything?"
"Just you." Dorian paused, taking a heaving breath, wincing in pain. "Perhaps…"
"Yes?"
"You'll think it stupid."
"No."
"The ale we drank in Redcliffe. Do we-"
"We have two bottles," Fenris assured him, taking his hand and kissing it. He leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips, then called for the servants again to bring the bottles up.
"The healer will be here in an hour," one of them informed him.
Fenris nodded. "That will be all. Thank you."
The servant left the ale with two mugs, but Fenris didn't drink. He sat next to Dorian, helping him sip.
"It's just as disgusting as I remember it," Dorian sighed, leaning against him.
Fenris laughed softly. "Yet you continue to drink it."
"I'm just fascinated that they actually came up with a drink as terrible as this. I wonder if-" he broke off, his voice cracking, and the tears started to fall again.
Fenris took the mug from him and pulled him close, hugging his frail, thin frame carefully.
"I'm terrified, Fenris," Dorian said, voice barely audible against his chest.
"If you'd rather-"
"No," Dorian sniffed. "No. I have to. I won't… I refuse to be a burden. I refuse to live my life like… I want it on my own terms. I just… what if…"
Fenris brushed the tears away a bit awkwardly with his one hand. "You will be fine. It will be painless. You'll fall asleep and then you'll be at the Maker's side."
Dorian laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "You're saying that to make me feel better."
"Yes. If I could find the words that would make you feel better, I would say them in a thousand different languages."
"I'm a lucky man to have met, you, Amatus."
Fenris smiled, leaned in, and kissed him. Dorian held onto him with all his strength, which wasn't much lately, and returned the kiss as passionately as he could.
"I'm so sorry, Fenris. I'm so… I'm a coward, aren't I?"
"No. No, you are not," Fenris assured him.
He'd seen how the illness affected Dorian. The money spent on his treatments was immaterial. They would have bankrupted the nation for it, and the nation would have allowed it to happen. But the simple fact remained that the disease was incurable. Something that went beyond the skill of any magical healing, of any race they sought out. And Fenris exhausted their options. Anything, anything for Dorian. And the decision they came to, years after the fact, was not an easy one, nor a light one.
"You don't have to," Fenris suggested again, perhaps selfishly.
"Yes. I can't let you… I know you would, Fenris. I know you would take care of me until I took my very last breath. But I can't. The pain, the agony. I can't… I want to, but I can't. I am… Maker." He laid back, eyes full of tears. He squeezed them shut, and Fenris watched the tears roll down his cheeks.
"I love you," Fenris said, then bit the inside of his cheek hard to keep his emotions in check.
"Hold me. Until the healer comes."
Fenris did. Lying there with him, unmoving, listening to Dorian breathe. Every so often, his breath would hitch, another sob, and Fenris would kiss his forehead or hold him tighter. He tried not to think about the future, clinging to the thoughts of the past, the present, the man in his arms who he'd come to love and respect. The time they had together. And finally, there came a knock on the door. Fenris called for him to come in.
The paperwork had been settled the week before, but Dorian had to put his name to one last paper. Fenris helped him, his writing better than Dorian's now, fingers twitching as he signed at the bottom. The healer explained it again. He would drink the entire potion, fall asleep, and go peacefully. Dorian was strong as Fenris helped him sit up, his eyes dry now. He kissed Fenris gently.
"I love you more than I could ever say."
"And I you," Fenris replied, kissing him one last time.
The healer handed him the potion, and Fenris allowed Dorian to bring it to his lips without help. Hand shaking, Dorian swallowed again and again until the glass was empty. The healer took it and stepped aside, checking his pocket watch. Fenris helped Dorian lay down again, gripping his hand. He felt the tears, burning, pricking his eyes, and he finally let them fall.
"I knew you would cry," Dorian whispered, already drowsy. "Stupid elf." He smiled.
Fenris half-laughed, half-sobbed, but didn't release Dorian's hand to brush them away. "Stupid human," he retorted. "I love you."
"I love you, too. Fenris?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
Fenris wanted to ask what for, but held his tongue. He thought he knew. They'd been there for each other through everything, and Fenris promised him he would be here for this. Dorian chose his own end. He might have thought himself a coward, but Fenris didn't see it that way. If not in battle, then by his own choice, with dignity. Not a shadow of his former self, but with sound mind. Able to recall the good times, the people he loved. The grip on Fenris's hand loosened, and Fenris leaned forward.
"Dorian?"
He released his lover's hand to place it upon his chest. The shallow rise and fall was no longer. Fenris let out a shaking sob, and bowed his head. He heard the healer move close to check for a pulse, and was grateful when the man said nothing, and merely exited the room, leaving him to his grief. He thought he was prepared for this, but how did you prepare for the loss of the person you loved more than anything in the world?
Fenris wiped away his tears and looked up at his lover's body. If there was a Maker, or elven gods, or Old Gods, he hoped that wherever Dorian was now, he was safe. And happy.
-
The pyre was a solemn event, Dorian's body committed to the ashes. Close friends gathered to watch, to tell their stories of the man they knew. The hero of the Inquisition, the great Archon who revolutionized their country. But Fenris saw none of it. He stood in the square outside the Magisterium, looking up at the statues of Archons past, and stopped at the marble one of Dorian. He stood proudly, book in one hand, staff in the other, looking out over the city he called his home for so long. The inscription underneath spoke of his triumphs, his victories. It even included a small paragraph of Fenris himself.
Fenris carefully set a bottle of Aggregio Pavali down at the base, and next to it, the bottle of Redcliffe Ale that Dorian hadn't been able to finish. He knelt carefully, unsheathing his sword, and placed it on the marble step, bowing his head.
"Thank you."
Hand shaking, Fenris withdrew a potion. Not the same that Dorian had taken, but one he knew would work just as well, purchased discreetly and somewhat illegally. He uncorked it with his teeth, and took a deep breath before downing it all in one swallow. As he settled down against the base of the statue that commemorated his lover, he let memories of the last several decades wash over him. Wherever Dorian was, he hoped to be reunited with him soon. The idea, the pain, of living without him was too much. The loneliness would have devoured him until he found even the thought of leaving bed to be too daunting. Like Dorian, he would take his fate in his own hands. Perhaps it was the coward's way. But he refused to live without the man who made his life complete.
He closed his eyes and fell asleep.