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2022-03-29
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Cullen has a near miss

Summary:

Cullen bears the brunt of Sage's temper

Work Text:

A few weeks after defeating Corypheus, Sage woke up to an empty pillow, the other half of the bed cold. This wasn't unusual, Dorian was an early riser, but something didn't sit right in the Qunari's gut. A quick stretch and he got dressed quickly, loose linen shirt and leather pants. He had to search a bit for his boots. They'd been tossed at random the night before.
He rushed from his quarters, cursing the number of stairs and distance. He couldn't put his finger on the rising panic he felt. His mind flashed to last night, tinged with wine that Dorian kept pushing on him. He didn't typically drink that much but his lover insisted. Sleepy and sated, he recalled a whisper before he drifted off. "I'm going to miss this, amatus."

Sage sprinted to the library. It was sparsely populated at this hour. As was Dorian's alcove. Fuck. The Tevinter mage was nowhere in sight. He looked around the library in vain. He moved to the loveseat they had shared so often, looking for signs of recent use. A piece of parchment lay on the plush velvet cushion and Sage's heart seized in his chest. He gingerly picked it up and began reading the sprawling script.

My dearest amatus,
You know how I detest long goodbyes. No one needs to see a weepy mage. I get all blubbery and whiney and there would be theatrics and drama. This way we skip all that.
That said, you inspired me. I told you this long ago. Inspired me to actually try to change my homeland, give voice to the voiceless, speak against the powers that harm so many.
I've been in correspondence with Magister Maevis and she and I have plans, bold plans to balance the inequality inherent in the system of the Magisters.
I realize that is cold comfort when your lover is too cowardly to say goodbye. I am sorry, amatus. I'll send word when I've reached Minrathous. Take care of yourself.
Love,
Dorian Pavus

Sage felt cold and numb all over. Gone without a word. He scanned the words again, looking for a timeline, a return date. He checked the back of the letter. Nothing. It was over.
He moved like an automaton, clearing away books, cleaning Dorian's detritus. No point in keeping any of it. If he hadn't packed it, then Dorian didn't want it.
Sage's gaze landed on the loveseat. Heat embroiled his mind, rattling through his limbs. Without a thought, he grabbed the loveseat and heaved it into the air. It cleared the railing and clattered to the stones below, shattering into pieces in what used to be Solas's office.

A yelp sounded from below followed by "Maker's breath! Who throws furniture?!"
Sage rushed to the railing and found a shaken but unharmed Commander Cullen.
"Shit! Cullen, are you alright?"
Cullen looked up and found him. "Inquisitor? That was you?!" Sage nodded sheepishly, feeling like an idiot for losing his temper. "I'm alright, just startled."

Sage sighed and ran down the stairs to speak with Cullen. He still did a visual inspection of his Commander to check for injury. "I apologize, Cullen. I lost my temper."
Cullen raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "I'd hate to see you in a rage if this was a loss of temper."
Sage didn't have a response to that, the reason for the temper loss hitting him again like a maul to the chest.
Cullen seemed to sense the shift in mood. "Are you alright, Inquisitor?"
Sage started to nod but couldn't. He mutely jerked his head to the side. Cullen waited patiently until Sage whispered, "he's gone."
Cullen looked momentarily confused before understanding dawned in his eyes. "Yes, he left this morning…" his voice trailed off. "He didn't tell you he was leaving, did he?"
Sage could only shake his head.
Cullen sighed, "that cowardly bastard. Let's go get something to drink."
Sage jerked his head up. "You don't seem the type to drink in the morning."
Cullen smirked. "I'm not but I figured you might want to."
Sage let out a bitter laugh. "Tempting but I'll pass. I… Have some cleaning up to do. Thank you."

The Commander nodded and continued into the interior of Skyhold. Sage was left standing at the bottom of the rotunda with a shattered heart to match the ruined loveseat. He began cleaning up if only to have something to do with his hands. If he kept busy, maybe it wouldn't hurt so much.