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The whiskey was bitter as he took another swig, burning its way down his throat. He had abandoned the crystal glass sitting on his desk in favor of the bottle ages ago. The room swirled around his head even as he sat down.
It was silent in the tower, his movements echoing in the empty fucking useless space that stretches between the bare furnishings of the room. It was silent everywhere in Skyhold, servants scuttling past, eyes downcast like he was some kind of monster. It hurt, he was supposed to be their fucking hero, yet lately all he got was pity. It didn’t hurt as much as the mark on his hand did though, magic shooting painfully up his arm like electricity arcing in his veins. It was consuming him, swallowing him whole, and all he could do was wait for it to bite down.
It's not like anybody had stuck around to watch him rot. Each one of his companions had scurried off back home the second the feast was over. The soldiers and the refugees went back to their farms and villages, Leliana went to begin her work as Divine, Cullen left to lead the templars, Varric went back to the Free Marches, Solas had hidden himself Maker knows where.
And Dorian, Maker above he had begged Dorian to take Zadoc with him, to see his lover’s homeland and to stand by his side as he remade it into something better. But no, it was too dangerous, he said, as if Zadoc hadn’t just slain an archdemon and prevented the end of the world. It would kill him if anything were to happen to Zadoc, if he were to lose him, as if Dorian couldn’t see how Zadoc was losing him the minute he stepped out that door.
His begging didn’t seem to have made a difference. They had all left him, discarded like a tool that had outlived its usefulness. All the others had somewhere else to go, something more to do. Zadoc had nothing, his clan and family dead, the Inquisition having swallowed any hope for a new life, and now, with its purpose fulfilled, he was left to rot in the depths of Skyhold.
He had never even fucking wanted to be here. He was a prisoner from the start, without the mark on his hand he would have been executed for treason in Haven without a second thought. Cassandra had made it clear enough that the same would happen if he ever tried to run. In everything he did for the Inquisition, the threat hung over him, even when he became Inquisitor. He was never more than a martyr to these people. Beloved herald of a god he didn’t even believe in, a savior made to die for the satisfaction of the masses. Chosen for little more than the mark on his hand and how easy he was to blackmail into the position. It made him feel sick.
He remembered Cassandra’s smile, victorious and smug, as she named him Inquisitor in front of the cheering crowd at their feet. It disgusted him how easily he fell in line.
Now the cheers had died and the tower lay silent, echoes bouncing off the stone and warping into the malevolent whispers that plucked at the edges of Zadoc’s mind. They took the voices of his friends (Could he call them friends? They certainly had scattered quickly once the rift had fallen) and whispered all his darkest thoughts and impulses. They told him he was useless, that he’d done the only good he’d do to the world, that the best thing for him to do now would be ending it all so that his rations might go to someone who deserved it. And the worst thing was, he knew they were right.
The whispers that stole Dorian’s voice hurt the most.
“Of course he left you,” They would hiss, “What self-respecting man wouldn’t? You’re nothing, carrion, not fit even to be eaten by the vultures,”
Zadoc snatched the crystal glass in front of him and threw it across the room, shattering it on the wall opposite. He clutched his head, whispers closing in from all sides, the mark on his hand throbbing in pain.
“He could see how worthless you are, right from the very start, and still you deluded yourself into thinking he’d ever want to take you with him, that he ever loved you. Worthless and a fool, what a pity,”
When it got really bad, Zadoc swore he felt their breath on his neck as they mocked him, swore he saw their faces swimming in the darkness. The shattered glass bounced off the stone walls and echoed into the sound of footsteps. The alcohol and despair flooding his system swirled the walls around his head and morphed the empty space in front of him into the greatest insult of all.
Dorian fucking Pavus, the supposed love of his life, stood before him like nothing had ever happened.
It made Zadoc fucking furious.
“You.”
A venom coursed through the word.
“Of course it’s you, leaving me once wasn’t enough? Had to come back to do it again?” He took another swig from the bottle on his desk, setting it down with a hard thump.
Dorian’s face twisted, and he reeled back from the scene in front of him. Of course he did, Zadoc must have looked a mess, clearly awful enough to make even his own hallucination recoil in disgust.
“Zadoc, amatus, what is going on?”
“Like you don’t know what’s going on. It’s beneath you, to be playing the fool. You know that,”
The vision of Dorian was exactly as he remembered him, not a hair out of place, his robes, spotless. Zadoc stank of alcohol and sweat, and he hadn’t changed clothes in days, he was sure his hair was a mess. He blinked up at the hallucination from where he sat, dizzy from the room spinning around his head.
“You’re perfect, Dorian. I hope you know that,” he whispered.
The vision approached the desk where Zadoc was sitting.
“Darling, what in the world are you talking about? You’re clearly not well, I-” he picked up the nearly empty bottle, “What is this?”
He snatched the bottle back from Dorian, taking another swig.
“It’s whiskey, darling,” his voice rasped at the word, “I’m thinking if the alcohol poisoning doesn’t get me I can always send a raven to Leliana for some stronger stuff. Bet you’d enjoy that, too useless to even finish the job,” His words stuck in his mouth as he tried to say them, slurring together.
“Enjoy that? Why would you think- you aren’t well, we should get you somewhere el-”
“Course you’d enjoy it, you LEFT!” Zadoc roared, slamming his fists down on the desk, a sick smile on his face, “You left! And you made it damn clear I wasn’t welcome to follow!” He stood up now, jabbing his finger into Dorian’s chest, “Prattling on and on about how you’d be devastated if you lost me, clearly that never held any weight!” The edges of Zadoc’s vision began to fade with the pounding in his head. “You left me here to rot and I can’t even get rid of you, haunting me like some fucking second-rate spirit. Whispering my greatest faults to me day and night wasn’t enough? You had to make a show of it, of course you did!”
The mark on his hand flashed, sending arcs of pain shooting up to his shoulder. Zadoc grit his teeth, panting with the effort to not cry out from pain.
“So why don’t you scurry off back to Tevinter and fuck some pretty slave boy, I’m sure you can find a dozen like me, eh?”
Dorian stood there, mouth agape, dumbstruck. The silence hung in the room, his remark echoing off the stone walls.
He sneered, “Wow… There’s something I thought I’d never see, Dorian Pavus, speechless” his face fell when he saw the tears forming in Dorian’s eyes, “Why the fuck am I saying this, you aren’t even here.”
Dorian started at that,
“I-”
“The real Dorian is somewhere in Tevinter, probably happier than he ever was with me, no longer having to deal with my bullshit. I was only ever dead weight to him, something to take pity on. You’re just another spirit conjured to torment me. Day after day, don’t you ever fucking rest? Leave me to die in peace.” He stumbled out from behind the desk and made his way towards the balcony doors, leaning against the wall as he went. It made sense, in a sick and twisted kind of way, that his addled and dying brain would conjure something close to a comfort in this moment
“The real Dorian is right here, I’m right here!” he followed Zadoc, grabbing after his arm only to be shaken off. Even drunk, Zadoc was stronger than Dorian had ever been. “Maker’s mercy, what are you doing?”
“Don’t lie to me,” He opened the doors as wind rushed in, scattering the pages on his desk, and took a deep breath, “You know exactly what I’m doing.” His voice was eerily calm compared to the fury of just a few moments ago.
Dorian ran after him, “I don’t!” he shouted. They were both on the balcony now, Zadoc standing next to the rail as Dorian stood in the doorway. The sun was setting, the mountain peaks in the distance letting streams of light through to sparkle on the stained glass windows.
Zadoc turned to face Dorian, leaning on the rail behind him. Every ounce of vitriol or despair had left his face, leaving pure, unadulterated adoration behind. He smiled, the golden sunshine radiated behind him, causing him to glow in the fading light.
“If nothing else, I’m glad you let me see his face one last time,” Then, eyes closed, just barely above a whisper, “I love you, Dorian.”
He tipped back over the rail, and time slowed.
Dorian ran forward, but his feet were like cinder blocks, scraping along the stones of the balcony. Zadoc’s face was placid as it tipped back into the fall. The light shining from behind set his hair ablaze, burning like a funeral pyre. Dorian could feel his lips moving, warping into a shout while the light in his eyes flashed with fear. The muscles in his shoulder strained as he reached, desperately, to catch Zadoc.
He was reminded of what happened, after that terrible meeting with his father in Redcliffe, as the pair of them were walking out of the tavern.
Dorian had been incensed by his father’s words, Zadoc was right in suggesting they leave. Had they stayed, he would have surely said something regrettable. Zadoc was quiet on the walk back to camp, listening without judgment to Dorian as he ranted about his father’s actions during his upbringing. When he was finished they walked in silence, songbirds and the rustle of wind in the trees being the only thing to break the stillness. They were a ways down the road when, finally, Zadoc gently slipped his hand into Dorian’s without a word, and the pair walked hand in hand.
Dorian slipped his hand into Zadoc’s and gripped with every ounce of strength in his body. It wasn’t enough to pull Zadoc up, but it was enough to stop him from falling.
Zadoc’s eyes flung open. Half spanning open air, he looked at Dorian, shock and confusion written across his face.
“Wha- what?”
Tears pricked in Dorian’s eyes,
“I’m here, amatus, I’m right here. Real and in the flesh,”
Dorian did his best to help Zadoc down from the rail. The second Zadoc’s feet touched the floor he sank to his knees, pulling Dorian down with him. He clutched at any piece of him he could grab, wrapping his arms around him, cupping Dorian’s face in his hands, running his fingers through his hair. Anything to prove that what he was seeing and feeling was real
“No, oh vhenan, I-“ Tears burned in Zadoc’s eyes as he realized all the awful, angry, hurtful things he had said to Dorian, the real Dorian, his Dorian. He buried his face into Dorian’s chest and sobbed, great wracking, heaving sobs. The haze of alcohol still wrapped its way around Zadoc’s mind like cotton batting.
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed “Please, vhenan. Stay. I take it all back, I’ll do anything, just please, Dorian, don’t leave me again,” his fingers dug into Dorian’s sides, grasping, bordering on painful.
“Maker above, Zadoc, I,” he sighed, wrapping his arms around Zadoc and holding him close.
“I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here,”
He pressed a kiss to Zadoc’s head, breathing in his scent. There was the acrid sourness of the whiskey Zadoc had been drinking, but underneath that was something earthy and warm, like elfroot trampled underfoot. He had missed that smell like nothing else.
He couldn’t stand it, being so far away from his love.
He had told himself it was alright, that his work towards reform was worth the heartache it caused. Zadoc had begged to join him, but Dorian had always refused on the grounds that being a Dalish elf in Tevinter was asking for trouble. Zadoc had argued that, as the Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste (and, not to mention, an incredibly skilled warrior), he would be more than able to handle himself should any issues arise.
Dorian couldn’t help how his mind helpfully provided the worst-case scenarios any time he thought about Zadoc so much as stepping foot in Tevinter. Visions of his love kidnapped, chained, sold, branded, enslaved danced in his head each time the subject came up.
But this? In all his anxious worrying he had failed to consider this as a possibility, and it ate at him to know that he had neglected to think if Zadoc felt he was being left behind. The fact that it had been bad enough for Zadoc to throw himself from the balcony to the cobbles below…
It was a miracle of fate that Dorian had been there to prevent it. Maker, if he hadn’t…
He imagined his body, dashed to bits on the stones below, an Inquisition courier arriving in Minrathous, and held onto Zadoc all the more tightly.
His heaving sobs had ceased, but he was still feverishly clutching Dorian’s sides, pressed against his chest, tears staining his doublet.
The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the pair to the fading twilight. A chill seeped into the air, and Zadoc shivered in Dorian’s arms.
“Amatus, we should get inside,” he said softly. Zadoc simply groaned in response, drawing his arms up around Dorian’s neck.
Dorian stood up, hefting Zadoc along with him. He led them both inside, Zadoc stumbling with his arms looped around Dorian’s neck.
Gently, Dorian sat Zadoc down on the spartan bedspread and knelt to unlace his boots. He stopped when he felt hands cup his face. Looking up, he saw the shine of tears on Zadoc’s cheeks.
“I’m sorry, vhenan, I’m sorry. They said such awful things and I believed them.”
A thumb stroked across Dorian’s cheek, wiping away the wetness that streamed down his own face. He wanted to ask about them, the hallucinations, but Zadoc clearly wasn’t well, and hadn’t been for a while. It would take time before he was ready to talk about what had been happening.
Dorian finished removing his and Zadoc’s shoes.
“I know, I’m here amatus, I’m here. You and I aren’t going anywhere at all.” He climbed into the bed and wrapped his arms around Zadoc, listening to his breathing until they both fell asleep.