Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They had snuck up on them.

Be it the tiresome travel or the fact they had all barely gotten any sleep since leaving Nessum, they probably hadn't been as careful as they should have when scouting ahead.

Roland was a few feet ahead, while Lacklon, instead, was in the back, making sure they weren't being followed, and perhaps, under the cover of Roland facing forward, throwing a few glances at that beautiful man without being met with that cunning smirk.

It was just as he was looking at Roland, observing how the sunset made his skin glisten, that with the corner of his eye he saw a man run towards the human.

Roland wasn't expecting the blow to his chest and fell backwards, a streamlet of blood staining his shirt where his armor gave in, a few inches down from his armpit.

Lacklon yelled, ran towards the attackers as they turned their attention to Miriam and Qwydion, and vigorously swung his axe at the guy that had knocked down Roland, nearly cutting him in half. He focused for one second to the man on the ground, meeting his green eyes for a second was enough of a reassurance to set him on a vindictive path.

They were skilled fighters, even with one man down, it didn't take too much for all three of them to slash, burn or crush the assassins.

As soon as he heard the last body thud, Lacklon rushed to Roland's side, for once faster than the Qunari, even with his short legs.

He could tell Roland was in pain, despite the charming smile the man was flashing at him, his faint panting and the slight sheen of sweat that covered his forehead being the main giveaways.

"You're sweet to worry, but, ah–" Roland winced, but nevertheless attempted to sit up. "I'm fine, Lacklon."

"You better be!" The dwarf observed carefully as Roland slowly stood up.

Qwydion immediately came to support him, swiftly wrapping one arm around his shoulders as he came to hold onto her waist with his left arm.

"We should get to a safe spot," Miriam chimed in, her face for once giving away her thoughts, she looked and sounded worried. "Can you make it?"

Roland nodded, and, as if to prove it, took a few steps towards the elf, leaving a trail of red drops behind him. Lacklon tried to ignore the way his stomach churned seeing his blood on the ground, but it was all he could think about as they made their way to a secluded area of the woods.

They came upon a small woodless area next to a tall rocky cliff, and figured, since the night was drawing closer, that they may as well set up camp there, keeping the wall of stone behind them. If more assassins found them, they would have to come from the front.

Lacklon could swear his stomach was eating itself, or somehow his intestines had found a way to wrap themselves around it.

It wasn’t going to happen, it couldn’t happen. For a Lord of Fortune it would take a massive amount of mis-fortune for his newfound lover to die right after he’d sort of proclaimed his feelings for him.

However, he could say he hadn’t been exactly the luckiest on this mission, with all the betrayal and double crossing going on.

He tried to keep busy, put a pot over the campfire, if he wasn’t able to help Roland for now, at least he could be useful later.

Roland, however… Perhaps that had been the one stroke of luck, besides not getting burned to death by the dragon.

He churned the ladle in the soup as he felt his thoughts swirl uncontrollably towards the worst outcome possible.

Could he even finish the mission if Roland ended up dying?  He did not want an answer to that question.

The bubbles kept rising to the surface of the soup, and so did the worries inside him.

By the time Miriam and Qwydion came out of the tent, a worrying amount of blood on their hands, the dwarf felt like he was the one who could faint.

"How's he doing?" He wished his voice hadn't trembled the way it did.

"Better." Miriam sighed. "The lance went quite deep, but there's no more bleeding, and he needed to rest, so we stopped. We'll get more healing done tomorrow and then we can move from this place."

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I wish I could have done more, but I'm pretty beat and... He could use the rest, and, definitely, some of that yummy soup that you made!" Qwydion made a beeline towards the campfire and poured herself a generous amount.

The elf gave Lacklon a pat on the shoulder before joining Qwydion around the fire.

"Yeah... yeah, alright." Lacklon scooped up a bowl, took a deep breath and got in the tent.

The faint light of a lamp softly lit the small space, the shadows of the fire danced across Roland's tired face. Some white bandages peeked from under the blanket, wrapping around Roland's shoulder and chest, Lacklon felt comforted at the fact there was little to no blood on the fabric.

He sat down beside him, watching over him as he slept, and after a while he allowed himself to run a hand through his messy locks and cup his cheek.

Lacklon wasn't sure how long he sat there, but he was starting to doze off when he felt Roland move, groaning softly.

"Lacklon..." The man called, his voice low and throaty.

"Yeah, I'm here." As Lacklon looked down, he met his sweet green eyes and just like that the knots in his stomach were gone. "How d'ya feel?"

"Better, now that you're here."

Did the bloodloss make him even cheesier than before?  Lacklon felt his cheeks burn and mentally thanked the low lighting for hiding it.

"I brought you some soup... You should, uhh, drink it while it's still warm." He took the bowl with both hands and scooted closer to Roland to help him sit up.

"Mmh," The human hummed. "Just my favorite." He wasn't looking at the soup as he said that, but Lacklon tried not to let the thinly veiled compliment get to his head.

The empty bowl clanked as Roland set it down, resting a bit more on Lacklon as he did so. "Thank you, Lacklon."

The dwarf really wasn't used to prolongated invasions of his personal space, however... This wasn't altogether too bad. He could, hypothetically, get used to it.

"Yeah, anytime, Rolls. Just don't die on me, huh?" Lacklon tentatively ran his hand through his hair again, though this time he felt Roland lean into the touch. He guessed he wasn’t that opposed to physical touch, too.

“I can’t say I’m planning on it.”

“Well, good. You better… I- I don’t want to do this without you.” Lacklon sighed, it was hard enough to deal with this kind of feelings, but talking about them was much worse.

Roland pulled back, taking the time to take Lacklon’s hands into his before looking at him in the eyes. “I’ll be alright. Probably better if you stay beside me. Best to keep an eye on me, mh? I’ll be sure to do the same for you… with pleasure.”

Roland smirked, winking to the dwarf. “I told you, I like the view.”

Even like this, he couldn’t help but be such a…

“Sweet-talker.” Lacklon mumbled, then tenderly, hesitantly pressed his lips on his.

This kiss, it was different than their first, soft and gentle as opposed to rushed and passionate. He trailed his hand up his arm, caressed his neck and then his cheek, so entranced by Roland in all his being that pulling away took all his willpower.

Those gorgeous green hues, that Lacklon could now see in such detail, were focused on him and nothing else. To be able to kiss him and be kissed back felt like a privilege, an honour he would give anything to maintain.

“So, will you be staying beside me… tonight?”

“Yeah, I suppose…” As if he could let him out of his sight. “If your stilt legs don’t take up all of the blanket.”

To be fair, the makeshift bed was barely big enough to fit Roland, and then maybe half of Lacklon if he rested on his back, but he accepted the fate of a sleepless night and made do of the few inches of blanket he got. All that really mattered was that Roland could rest, everything else could wait.

He turned to his side to find Roland still awake, though barely so, with a content smile slightly curving his lips. The human beckoned another kiss, and who was Lacklon to deny a wounded man such comfort. A warmth spread through his chest as he kissed him, then pressed his lips to his forehead as they settled in a comfortable position for the both of them.

That was how he ended up trapped, Roland draped over him, with his head tucked underneath Lacklon's chin. He snored softly, but the dwarf had heard much worse snoring in his life to let it trouble him. He raised the one arm that wasn’t underneath Roland and put it behind his head. Once again he found himself thinking, this wasn’t so bad after all.

He could almost say he found it endearing, the way Roland clung to him, as if being so close to him made him feel better, though he wasn’t sure how that could be the case.

Lacklon felt better when he was close to him, but he wasn’t going to admit that to himself just yet.

Somehow, sleep found him despite the beautiful distraction hugging his chest.

Chapter Text

The cot felt cold under his hand.

Lacklon shivered, blindly looking for the blanket all over around him, eyes closed in an attempt to maintain the sweet torpor of sleep. Under his hand, though, he could only feel what seemed to be a pile of fabric, damp with something that stained his fingers as he brushed against it. 

Now confused and unwillingly awake, Lacklon sat up, and only then he realised there was no weight over his chest to stop him from doing so.

His eyes snapped open. "Rolls?" He whispered, though no soft snoring nor sweet talk answered his call.

It was late in the night, no sounds other than the crackling fire could be heard.

He turned around, scanning the inside of the tent in search for Roland. The fire inside the lamp had gone out, and the only source of light came from the campfire outside. The shadows of Qwydion and Miriam lying down next to the fire projected onto the thin tent wall, moving irregularly along with the flames.

He rubbed at his eyes and whatever he had on his hand now sullied his face as well. At the strange sensation, Lacklon looked at his hand, finding it, horrifyingly smeared with red, blotchy blood.

The bandages.

He grabbed the fabric: the whiteness that, just hours earlier, had comforted him was long gone.

“Roland!” He called out, now uncaring if he woke the other two.

He could’ve just gone out for a piss, Lacklon tried to reason with himself as the silence engulfed him.

He’s got a weak bladder, he realised dwarven snoring was too loud for him to handle, he craved some more soup and couldn’t find it in his heart to wake him up— anything, Maker, anything other than Roland being alone and in danger.

The very familiar sensation of his stomach filling with angry snakes taunted Lacklon as he got up.

He’d said he would stay beside him, and now, Roland was gone. A small part of Lacklon began whispering that it was his fault, his damn fault for showing his feelings, he’d scared him off for good.

Turmoil brewing inside him, Lacklon made his best attempt at ignoring himself for Roland’s sake. He burst out of the tent only to find—

The grass had turned maroon, shining dreadfully and beautifully altogether a distinctive blood red under the fire.

Irregular splotches of awful crimson surrounded Miriam, not asleep as he’d thought but face down, a hand extended towards the tent, towards him, and a dozen stab wounds in her back, a knife firmly planted between her shoulder blades.

His stomach threatened to jump out of him as he tuned his aching eyes over to Qwydion. Not unlike Miriam, she was unmoving, eyes open but soulless. In all of her Qunari might, she seemed to have been gutted from the chest down.

A string of no’s left Lacklon, growing nauseous, growing furious over a scene that had repeated its sight in his eyes far too many times.

With clenched fists and furrowed brows he checked over his companions, although he already knew it was too late, walking around the campsite as all of his despair boiled into anger, hatred towards whoever had done this. 

Nothing moved, nothing even seemed to breathe, and the fire crackled tauntingly in that moonless night.

He walked back to the tent, forcing himself to look the other way as he stepped between the bodies. He had to get his axe, then he could look for Roland… or what was left of him.

However, as Lacklon reached the threshold of the tent, a hand came to move aside the fabric, a dark hand stained in red, quickly followed by Orlesian armor.

Roland.

“Rolls! Ro- Rolls, what–“ The joy in his voice quickly, turned into a hoarse stuttering, gave in to his fear.

Following Roland, as he stepped out of the tent, was a dark figure, one far too similar to the assassin that had attacked them earlier during the day. He was holding a dagger to Roland’s throat.

How could the both of them have been in the tent?! He had looked in every nook, they weren’t there, he was alone! 

“Lacklon…” Roland wheezed, throat straining against the blade. “You… Why weren’t you… beside me?”

“I was!” Lacklon roared. “I could have never left you!”

The fear in Roland’s emerald eyes suddenly was no more, the glisten now turned opaque. “But you did.” He said, piercing him with a glare that could have killed– Lacklon almost wished it had.

The shadow moved his arm in one swift move, cutting through the soft skin as if it were butter.

Crimson poured from the wound, as Roland went limp and buckled under his weight. Lacklon could only watch, trapped inside his own body, mouth agape waiting for a scream that never came. He could feel his eyes water while his mouth dried, the beating inside his chest coming to a halt while his heart sunk.

Then the shadow of a man came to him, pointing the blade to his chest and pushing, with no hesitation, the hot pain burning a hole inside him, which somehow still did not move his mind from the one thought he had: Roland’s death was his fault.

The silent darkness swallowed Lacklon whole.

A blurred redness was all he could see for a while. The light filtered through his eyelids and came to him in the form of the color he'd begun to hate. His body was, somehow, still there. He could feel his fingers brush against the bundled blanket, some of his hair that had escaped his ponytail and now fell on his face, tickling his nose.

He didn't want to open his eyes.

Whatever he was coming to, Lacklon wasn't sure he could handle it in that moment.

He expected to hear the chirping, the sounds of the world going on about its day, and that was what he heard, but a suave, low voice was also there, whispering along another voice he couldn't quite make out. Though he couldn't hear the entire conversation, he could pick up bits and pieces. 

"That is much better." The low voice said, then a pause, and "Thank you, Qwydion. I'll join you two for breakfast when he wakes up."

Roland.

Fucking Roland.

His eyes snapped open, Lacklon sat up at record speed and turned his head so fast he could have broken his neck.

He sat there, staring, as his brain tried to wrap itself around the fact he was still alive, and so was everyone else. With burning embarrassment, he could feel tears well up in his eyes, but once again, he was powerless against it.

Roland was sitting not too far away from Lacklon, half undressed as his shirt was pulled up to let Qwydion reach his wound- or better, where his wound used to be. It looked like Qwydion had just barely finished her healing, her hands still glowed with residual magic. Qwydion's gigantic frame was the first to move after Lacklon set eyes on them, she turned and spotted the dwarf, now awake and panting.

"Oh! Sorry! I guess we'd ended up being a bit too loud anyway–" She said, a smile on her lips as always. "Guess we can do breakfast now."

Roland turned to him, he seemed happy at first, but Lacklon watched as his smile faded. His brows furrowed, green eyes filling with... worry?

The piercing glare was still fresh in Lacklon's mind, along with the most hurtful words Roland, or whatever he thought was Roland, had said to him.

He finally gained back the ability to move, the moment a tear rolled down his cheek and into his beard. Lacklon quickly wiped it away and turned his back to the other two in the tent, ears burning and chest on fire as he tried to breathe normally, when he just couldn't.

After what felt like hours, Roland finally said, "You must be hungry, Qwydion. Please, go ahead, eat. As I said, we'll be with you and Miriam in just a while."

Lacklon could feel Qwydion's eyes stare a hole into his trembling back.

The sound of Roland patting his hands on his thighs as he stood up, quickly followed by the rustling of the tent opening to let the Qunari out.

"Yeah, um. I'll make sure not to eat all of the soup!" And with that the tent closed, muffling whatever Qwydion was starting to say to Miriam.

"Lacklon, darling..." A hand came to rest on his shoulder. "Tell me what's wrong."

The words wanted to come out of his chest, but they just stopped in the middle of his throat and grew into a pain that increasingly became far too much to ignore.

He swallowed around the knot, exhaling and turning to face Roland. His green eyes had never looked more worried.

"It's no– nothing. I was just... I..." He stuttered. Why were feelings so fucking hard to speak about? "I had a... dream. It upset me, and I..."

Roland's hand cupped his cheek, gently wiping off his tears. The look he had on his face was so different from what he'd seen that night. There was no bitterness, only concern, Roland cared about how he was feeling.

Lacklon lowered his eyes, while, at the same time, he trailed his hand up Roland's waist, lifting his shirt as he did so. His fingers brushed against the raised edges of a scar.

"I thought I'd lost you. And you asked me to stay beside you, and I didn't– I thought..." The one chance he thought he had, he felt it slip through his fingers, and somehow he couldn't shake off that feeling.

"But it was just a dream. I know it's a dumb dream and it means nothin'..." He felt himself blush even more, trying to avert his eyes from Ronald completely but finding himself unable to, as Ronald had cupped both of his cheeks and had him gently turn to him.

"It was a horrible dream, Lacklon, but you didn't leave me." He pressed his lips to his cheek. "You were by my side all night, and I can't imagine how much your back is aching. You have no idea how much I apprecciate you being here right now..." He kissed his other cheek, pulled back with his brows tilted upwards, looking slightly sadder. "If anything, I'm sorry I wasn't careful, I should have seen it coming. If I hadn't..."

Finally Lacklon's features relaxed, it seemed that Roland had managed to get through his thick head enough to let the nightmare ease the hold it had onto him. 

"You have nothing to apologise for, Rolls." He said, softly. 


Roland could feel his breath on his lips as he spoke, he couldn't stop himself from leaning down and kissing him.

This time Lacklon didn't hold back, he kissed him back fiercely, tugging Roland towards him, though he had to admit he had perhaps pulled too much when Roland lost his balance and fell down on the bed. That didn't stop the dwarf. With determination in his eyes, he climbed over Roland, knees on either side of his waist, and bent down to kiss him again.

"Mmh, Lacklon..." Roland sighed, hands tangling in his hair, and destroying what little was left of his ponytail. "We should... join the others for breakfast..."

"Fucking breakfast..." All Lacklon wanted right now was beneath him, currently yanking at his shirt. "I don't mind... cold soup..."

He held tight onto Roland. After what he dreamed, after the scare of the injury, there was no way he could let go. Whatever this feeling was, wherever this relationship was going, Lacklon was going to find out and not let his doubts ruin the whole thing. He liked the way he felt when Roland was there, even if it made him a fool, he was going to chase that feeling.

All of a sudden, Roland switched their positions, pinning Lacklon on the bed with his weight and sliding his hands under Lacklon’s shirt, eliciting a few surprised moans from the dwarf.

It was just as Roland was leaning down that the tent filled with light as the flaps of the tent opened.

“Hey, are you guys—" Miriam stopped talking as soon as she stepped in.

Lacklon watched Roland as he blushed, tensed up beyond what he thought was possible under his fingers.“We… We will be right over…”

They untangled from the position, avoiding each other's eyes as they knew looking at each other would have made it worse.

"We'll keep the soup warm for just a second more, you better get dressed." Miriam said, barely stopping herself for chuckling before she left. 

Roland finally looked at his companion and he laughed. "Come on," He got on his knees and stood up, extending a hand for Lacklon to take. 

"Thanks," After getting on his feet, Lacklon started buttoning his shirt. "We'll get teased mercilessly for this, you know."

"If that's the price to pay, I'll endure it, gladly, may I add. Perhaps we can continue from where we left off... Tonight? Given we have some privacy... With some luck even a tavern along the way..." Roland winked, then fixed his clothes the best he could and stepped out.

"I-Uh..." Lacklon had a feeling it wasn't Miriam and Qwydion's teasing that he had to be on the lookout for.