Work Text:
“Kaffas!”
Dorian’s fist hits the smooth surface of the mirror with a soft thump. A few feet back, Cole cringes.
“If you hit it too hard, it’ll break.” he says quietly.
The mage glares over his shoulder at him but offers no reply. For once, he doesn’t quite know what to say.
The Inquisitor was bad off when he vanished through the eluvian. His arm was wreathed in sparks of green all the way up to his elbow, barely able to properly use the thing in his spell-work. These could be his final moments and they were stuck there, away from him.
He would be alone when he...
Dorian strikes the mirror’s surface again, eyes burning, and bites back a sob. He raises his other to his face shakily as he hears the soft clink of Rainier’s armor coming closer.
“Dorian... stop.”
A heavy hand rests on his shoulder. For once, the mage finds the warden’s company welcome.
Dorian wants to scream, to destroy something, to break that damned mirror for not opening for him... But, instead, he finds himself pressing his cheek against the cold metal of Rainier’s glove. Something to soothe the fire in him, just for a moment, before he feels the other man kneel beside him.
“It only opens for him.”
“And Solas.” Dorian hisses, finally moving to slide Thom’s hand off his shoulder.
Behind them, soundlessly moving closer, Cole worries the hem of his shirt. He has something to say but seems wary of speaking. Something about being ‘more human’ has made him concerned with tact.
It seems almost inopportune at a time like this.
“If we wait too long, we won’t be able to leave.” was what finally came, his voice barely a whisper.
Rainier cringes, glancing around them, and finally nods to Cole. But Dorian keeps his gaze fixed on the stonework path leading to the eluvian. He can’t, he won’t, hear this.
They’re not leaving without the Inquisitor.
“If he’s not back soon we have to assume he’s...”
“He’s coming back.” Dorian says insistently, eyes fixing on his reflection in the mirror.
He looks dreadful. But, for once, this is the least of his worries.
"He can’t be gone.” he adds quietly, eyes dropping to his hands, “Maker take me for not waiting till after this damned council to tell him I’m going to Tevinter.”
“It’s better you told him.” Cole says, closer than he’d been before to Dorian’s side, “He was happy for you.”
Dorian barks out a laugh but it sounds more like a sob so he quickly covers his mouth. The three are silent for a moment, all refusing to look at the eluvian, and finally the mage gets to his feet shakily and steps away from it.
“We give him an hour.”
He takes a seat on a broken pillar nearby, set in his decision, and the other two seem to agree. Rainier settles himself on a nearby stump, removing his helmet and shield, and Cole plops down in the grass across from the mirror, legs folded under him.
They wait.
At the thirty minute mark Dorian feels panic bubble in his chest again but fights it down. The eluvian is still and dark and silent.
At the forty-five minute mark, he feels himself giving up.
“He’s not coming.”
“Yes, he is.”
Cole, eyes on the mirror’s face, answers with such firmness that the mage is quieted. Something about this sounds more like certainty than hope. Dorian folds his hands together in his lap.
Another five minutes pass, feeling like hours, and then there comes a bright light from the eluvian. They all get to their feet, frantically reaching for weapons in case it’s Solas or the qunari or any one of the other horrors they’ve faced, and hold their breaths collectively.
A flash of veil quartz armor is all it takes for all three to go darting towards the figure. The elf, their Inquisitor, hits the tile path in front of the eluvian on his knees the instant he steps through. As Cole reaches him, being the closest of them, he braces himself on his hands.
Hand.
As he gets closer, Dorian realizes there’s only one hand on the tile. He throws his staff haphazardly, almost hitting Thom, and drops to his knees next to Lavellan. The elf looks at him, smiling even with the pained cringe on his face, and Dorian’s hands ghost over the area where his left arm was.
“Wasn’t anymore good.” he says and Dorian can tell, were he in less pain, the elf would be laughing.
“What--How--?”
“The mark’s gone. But the arm... no good.” Lavellan explains shortly, gritting his teeth for a moment as Rainier helps him straighten into a sitting position, “Hurt too much to move so I...”
For this, the elf makes a chopping motion with his other hand. He braces his back against Rainier and allows Dorian a better look at the remainders of his arm; elbow up.
It’s a clean cut, already cauterized with fire magic. The Inquisitor has even put a small coating of ice over the top to help with pain. Never the best healer, no, but the elf knew a thing or two about fire so there was no blood in sight.
“Who cut it off?” Dorian asks.
Lavellan pokes his thumb towards himself, putting on his best grin.
“Spirit blade.”
No wonder it was so clean and free of blood. A smart move but...
“Kaffas, there are less painful ways of removing limbs.” Dorian hisses, already trying to knit what little healing magics he knows into the rest of the Inquisitor’s arm, “Damned fool.”
“I didn’t... want you to leave me.”
“We wouldn’t--”
Before Dorian can reply, he falters. They were... They were going to leave him. It was the obvious thing to do. They all knew it.
Instead, Cole speaks. He moves, carefully, and takes the Inquisitor’s remaining hand in his own.
“You almost took too long.”
Lavellan does manage to laugh at this.
“I’ll be quicker next time I chop off a limb.”
“Maker, amatus!” Dorian hisses, grabbing the Inquisitor’s face and pressing his lips to his forehead, “My heart can’t take your jokes at a time like this!”
“Ir abelas, Dorian.” Lavellan replies, leaning into his touch, “I will behave.”
“You never do. But I’ll forgive you, this once.”
“Good good, ah--”
The Inquisitor moves to get to his feet, Thom and Dorian going with him for support, and bites back his pain. He’s off balance from blood loss and his left arm, even with Dorian’s aid, has to be killing him.
But he’s alive.
“Let’s get back, yeah?” he says finally, leaning heavily on Rainier’s arm, “Before the council leaves us behind.”
Dorian finds himself laughing this time, in spite of himself.
“If only we could be so lucky.”