Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Have I mentioned the atrocious weather yet?”

Bull smirked as Dorian’s voice rose above the wind rushing around them and glanced back over his shoulder at the mage. “Not this hour.” Not that he could see much of Dorian; he was nearly completely covered in fabric with his large scarf, hood, and thick wool robes, his only visible features his eyes, nose, and the top curl of his mustache. The wool robes were another one of Dorian’s favorite topics to complain about, even when the Boss protested that they were made from the best Dale Loden Wool out there. When pressed, even Dorian would admit that silk wouldn’t work so well to keep away the cold. Krem had knit the scarf for Bull but Dorian had quickly taken custody of it as soon as they reached the Emprise du Lion despite its “abhorrently pink” color. It was a shame so much of him was covered but there was something cute about the way he was all bundled up.

“Well then, may I remind you how intensely awful this unique combination of wind and snow is? I think I’ve soaked right down to my socks which makes no sense since my feet haven’t touched ground since noon. How has the snow managed to get there? I’ll tell you: because it is everywhere. How the horses are managing to walk through it is beyond me.”

Up ahead, Evelyn laughed and Varric turned in his saddle to grin back at the both of them, gesturing to Bull with a quick jerk of his thumb. “Not to mention the way Tiny is going around with his shirt off, huh?”

Dorian arched a brow, the gesture almost impossible to see beneath all his layers. “That, Varric, is a lost cause. Believe me.”

Dorian allowed himself a small, hidden smile behind the scarf as it was Bull’s turn to laugh. It really was very cold though and so he considered his whining a public service; no one else was going to say it and it needed to be said. But the Inquisition didn’t have the luxury of choosing when they traveled and Dorian knew and appreciated that as much as the others did. That didn’t mean he had to pretend to like it. Admittedly, his foul mood was due in part to the twelve days prior to this that they had spent traipsing around the Emprise du Lion and camping in the snow. The small silver lining had been burrowing against Bull in their shared tent at night but, after nearly a fortnight of not having access to a proper bath, the joy had begun to wear off of that as well.

Biting his chapped lips, Dorian released a small pulse of heat through his hands then down into his boots to make sure that any melted snow caught there didn’t refreeze and threaten any of his toes with frostbite. The others knew to come to him for the same treatment if they needed it; he was much better at pyromancy than healing magic and would rather prevent health problems rather than solve them.

They rode on through the snow, moving ever closer toward Skyhold. They had finished their business in the Emprise du Lion and were thankfully now headed home. Home. What a strange sentiment, that Skyhold would be “home” now. But it was true. It was where Dorian’s rooms were, where his books were, and where his study and research was. It was where his friends were. It was where Bull was. Skyhold was more a home than Tevinter had ever been.

His thoughts were interrupted as Evelyn lifted her right hand to catch their attention before she turned around in her saddle enough to speak to them. “Hey, Dorian, I just saw something that will get your blood pumping and warm you up a bit. How do you feel about taking out a Venatori camp?”

Dorian’s eyes darted around and spotted what she already had: a small cluster of Tevinter-style tents at the base of the hill they were riding along the crest of nearly hidden behind a row of boulders tinted red with tainted lyrium. The tents weren’t emblazoned with the Venatori insignias but, with the way they were arranged and the look of the gear around them, there was no mistaking it for a civilian encampment. Raising a brow, Dorian reached back and swung his staff out from its sheath on his back. “I feel quite good about it, actually.” He hadn’t expected to see any Venatori here, and certainly not so close to the road back to Skyhold. Surely they knew that this was a well-used thoroughfare for the Inquisition’s forces. But perhaps that was their intention…

“Shit, yeah.” Bull rumbled out beside him. “We needed some excitement today! How do you want to handle this, Boss?”

“How about—”

Before Evelyn could finish, Varric interrupted as he slid off of his pony. “Oops. Looks like they just spotted us.”

Sure enough, armed men streamed out of the tents, weapons in hands, and started up the hill towards them. Bull was off of his giant brute of a horse a second later and Dorian and Evelyn were quick to follow after. Bull had his battle axe out before his feet even hit the ground and as Varric primed Bianca Evelyn slid her double daggers from their sheaths with a sharp hiss of metal on metal.  Varric grinned up at them as he pulled a crossbow bolt out. “Maybe it was the seven-foot-plus tall Qunari that tipped them off.”

Bull gave an easy shrug as he hefted his axe up onto his shoulder. “I dunno, maybe it was Dorian’s pink scarf.”

“It’s your pink scarf, you oaf.”

“So you admit it?”

“Alright, enough,” Evelyn laughed as she swung her daggers up into an offensive position. “Let’s refocus on the men currently running up the hill to kill us, shall we?”

Before either Dorian or Bull could answer, Varric lifted Bianca up and called back at them. “They’ve got a mage. Here comes an Immolate!”

Sure enough, one of the men had fallen behind his fellows, a book floating up and open beside him, and summoned a white-hot ball of fire then flung it at their party.

“Dorian!” Evelyn called out but she had barely opened her mouth to speak when Dorian had begun to cast a barrier around them.

A smirk worked its way onto his lips as the flare burst in a fiery explosion against the shield and not a single ember slipped through. “Already handled.” Casting a fire-element spell against him; they had no idea who they were dealing with.

His easy deflection of the spell seemed to only spur the Tevinter soldiers on harder and Evelyn motioned back at them. “Come on, Bull. Varric, Dorian, watch our backs.” Without any further ado, she and Bull barreled down the hill toward the on-coming enemy.

Dorian watched as his friend and his lover both launched themselves forward with near equal enthusiasm and fondly shook his head. But he had no plans to linger back while they risked life and limb on the frontline. And the sentiment apparently showed on his face, even beneath his heavy robes. Varric raised a brow at him. “You’re not planning on hanging back, are you?”

“Do I ever? It would be so very dull.”

“That it would. After you, Sparkler.”

Varric gave a playful bow and Dorian nodded back before making his way down the slope after Evelyn and Bull. The snowpack made him a bit less graceful than he would have preferred but he kept his footing and his pride as he half ran, half slid down the hill, using his staff to help keep him balanced and upright during his descent. He kept his gaze up though, intent on not missing a single bit of the action. They had a head start but the beauty of casting was that distance was a mere minor inconvenience.

Before Bull and Evelyn reached the other Tevinters, Dorian cast Horror over his countrymen, a black skull erupting in the air above them in a silent scream, then immediately set loose a firestorm, laughing at the sheer beauty of it as the flames burst to life at the enemies’ feet. The combination was devastating and sent the majority of the soldiers into a blind panic, making them easy targets as Bull and Evelyn finally reached them, axe and blades at the ready.

Bull had the first kill, nearly taking the head off of a man who had been partially set ablaze by Dorian’s spell, and Dorian quickly drew on the energy dispelled from the man as he died as he and Varric met the fight head on. It never failed to make Varric’s face scrunch up in displeasure when he saw it but now he was far too occupied to notice, firing bolt after bolt into the fray. Fifty or so paces away Evelyn was spinning and leaping about like an angel of death, gone one moment in a puff of smoke and reappearing the next to stab her daggers through the small slits in one of a soldier’s armor. Bull, of course, was impossible to miss, calling out a raucous battle cry in Qunlat and heaving his great axe about with devastating blows. But they had fought together so many times as a team that they were now able to move nearly as one and danced around each other. Not seamlessly but with enough practice that any errors were easily remedied.

But the Tevinters were fighting back, more so as the tides turned against them. It was almost as if up to that point they had been holding themselves back and surged against them. Dorian suddenly found himself surrounded, his lines of sight to the others cut off. But if they thought isolating him from the rest of his party would be enough to best him they were poorly mistaken.

Dorian’s grip tightened on his staff before he spun around, forcing the enemy back as they avoided the blade on the end of his staff, then whipped it up with a flourish and cast another Horror spell. As another skull burst forth above him, momentarily throwing those closest to him into a panic, Dorian followed the spell with Haste. There was a flash of gold and the world immediately slowed around him. His mana was beginning to dwindle and as he reached for a fresh lyrium potion, he used his few extra seconds to better position himself. Time was slowed, not stopped, and the soldiers not affected by Dorian’s Horror were beginning to close in on him. Knowing he only had a few seconds left, Dorian swung his staff back up and steeled himself.

As his Haste spell faded he wondered for the first time that day if perhaps he had gotten himself into a bit of trouble. There were, by his count, still two warriors in front of him and a rogue at his back, all on their feet with their weapons ready to strike. Some level of strategy was needed. Rogues were quick but warriors hit harder and he knew he would only have time to defend against one of the two groups with his mana as depleted as it was. The choice was clear: warriors it was.

Gritting his teeth, he brought his staff up to block against one of the warriors as they brought their greatsword down on him and used what remained of his mana to knock the other back a few steps with a weakened Mind Blast. It wasn’t much but it gave him the space he needed to quickly down his lyrium potion, nearly choking on it in his rush to take it in. Casting away the bottle, he snarled at the warriors as they righted themselves and prepared for another assault. But, wait, he was forgetting someone: the rogue, whom he hadn’t had the chance to defend against.

Expecting the onslaught was certainly better than being caught off guard but he still couldn’t bite back his cry as he felt a sharp blade cut into his arm. The rogue had darted forward as he pulled back his staff to swing again and managed to slice the skin on his forearm open nearly from elbow to wrist. “Kaffas!”

Blood began to pour down his arm, making his grip on his staff slip as he whipped it back at the rogue but connected with nothing but empty air, the rogue having disappeared in a puff of smoke. Unleashing a wave of fire, Dorian thought he’d be able to give himself room to breathe. It worked—to an extent. The warriors and rogue were all caught in the blast and had to leap back to avoid being charred but a blast of ice from his left warned him that his spell had been at least partially countered.

Their mage was suddenly at his side, book out and a chant on his lips and Dorian hissed as he felt his blood begin to react, the slick heat crawling back up his skin. A cold fear seized in his chest and he switched his staff to his uninjured hand. He was clumsier with his non-dominant hand but he was not incapacitated and before the mage could finish his chant Dorian spun and lunged forward. The blade on his staff pierced straight into the other man’s stomach, just below his ribs, and Dorian grimaced as blood spattered on him. But at least his own had stopped trying to crawl back into his veins and he could shake off the lingering sensation of blood magic from his skin.

Bull must have heard some of his struggle because he called out to him over the noise of the fray, voice tight. “Dorian?!”

“I’m alright!” His answer was immediate, even though he wasn’t so sure it was true. But the battle was still on and Bull couldn’t be distracted.

From his right, he heard Evelyn yell, “Let’s finish them off!”

It was the rallying cry he needed to hear and Dorian drew in a deep breath before tugging his staff free from the other mage and unleashing an Immolate spell of his own. The others had apparently fared better than he had because as soon as the flames from his Immolate subsided he was able to see that the few surviving men—including the rogue who had sliced his arm open—were running. Varric, Evelyn, even Bull didn’t appear to have been as overwhelmed as he had been.

Dorian would’ve been embarrassed if he could think of anything but the pain in his arm. Limping over to a nearby rock, leaving a trail of red behind him in the snow, Dorian lowered himself down onto it with his good arm, his injured one cradled in his lap. Void take him, he was bleeding all over his robes. Cursing under his breath, Dorian uncorked yet another lyrium potion and downed it. It did nothing for his exhaustion this time but restored enough of his mana to allow him to try and heal his arm. Venhedis, but he was bad at healing.

But today he seemed particularly incompetent.

His healing magic skittered across the wound and Dorian frowned as it seemed not to take, like water trying to mix with oil. He set his jaw and focused harder, forcing the magic out, and slowly, too slowly, he watched as his skin knit back together over the wound. Dorian was so deeply engaged in his task that he didn’t notice as Bull walked over to him and started as he finished casting and looked up to find a large form crouched directly in front of him.  “Maker! Bull, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Sorry, kadan.” Usually Bull would have grinned after catching Dorian off guard like that but there was no mirth on his face now. He reached out to delicately run his hand, rough with callouses, down Dorian’s arm. His leather sleeve and gauntlet had been shredded but the skin beneath was now intact, if not a bit sensitive. “That’s a lot of blood; must’ve been some hit you took.”

He was referring to the red staining the front of Dorian’s robes. Heaving a sigh, Dorian’s annoyance deepened. “Nothing dramatic enough to justify the mess I’ve made, I’m afraid. He must have hit an artery…”

“You said you were alright.”

“And, as you can see, I am.” Now at least. More or less. “Just a bit lightheaded.”

Bull opened his mouth as if to argue but closed it again as Evelyn and Varric chose that moment to jog over, much to Dorian’s relief. Both looked worried, though Varric was doing a better job at hiding it than the Inquisitor. Her brow was furrowed and she seemed completely oblivious to the blood splattered across her own armor. “Dorian, are you hurt?”

“Not anymore.” Attempting to prove his point, Dorian moved to stand but, much to his embarrassment, what little strength he had left in his body seemed to have left him while he was sitting. Dorian released a stifled growl and held his arms out to Bull. “Help me up.”

None of the worry faded from Bull’s face as he stood himself back up then hoisted Dorian to his feet. He caught Bull wince as his knee stretched and immediately felt guilty; he knew it’d been giving him trouble with the chill. Dorian squeezed Bull’s hands in silent acknowledgement. “I apologize,” he sighed, giving Bull a tight smile then nodding at Evelyn and Varric. “Nothing has been injured worse than my pride.”

He was too much of a coward to look at whatever expression Bull was wearing in response to that and kept his eyes on Evelyn as she smiled back at him. “A few drinks back at Skyhold will cure that. But they wore me down as well; what do you say we make camp for the night then continue on in the morning?”

Dorian wanted to refuse—they still had a few good hours left of daylight to travel by—but he was tired and shaken by the whole affair and calling it an early night sounded too good to turn down. If they rested now and roused early the next morning they would be able to be back in Skyhold by midafternoon, assuming there were no further interruptions. And bless Evelyn for making it sound like she was doing it for herself, even when he was fairly certain it was solely for his own comfort. “I think it would do me a bit of good as well and give me time to properly recoup my mana…” That, at least, was the truth. The lyrium potions had done their jobs but maybe he’d feel better once he gave himself time to naturally recharge his mana.

“Mages do seem to get cranky when they start running low,” Varric joked. Dorian automatically scowled back but he was grateful for the dwarf lightening the mood, even if he was the butt of the joke.

“Believe me, Varric, you’ve never seen me in a truly foul mood. What would you know of cranky mages?”

Varric laughed. “Plenty! More than I care to, in fact. Come on, let’s go get the horses and I’ll tell you all about the time my mage friend nearly drained himself dry of mana then whined when we had to carry him the whole way back to Kirkwall.” Dorian’s gratitude grew as Varric launched into his story, letting Dorian focus on something other than his own fatigue as they slogged back up the hill.

They ended up making camp on a small bluff just off of the main path that overlooked a frigid river valley not too far away from where they had had their skirmish. The view would have been lovely if Dorian hadn’t been so sick of the snow and been feeling a bit more himself. As it was, it was a fight simply to keep his eyes open as he dismounted and helped the others set up. His movements were slow and clumsy and his frustration grew as he found it impossible to focus on tasks as simple as setting up his and Bull’s tent. Bull, of course, noticed, and he felt his lover cast him concerned glances as he struggled to knot the rope that secured their tent down. Which didn’t particularly improve his mood. Thankfully for all involved, Bull let him stumble his way through the chore without attempting to intervene.

Bull had helped Varric get a fire going and then start dinner and Dorian unhelpfully sat and watched them once he had finished wrestling with the tent. Evelyn emerged from the tent she would be sharing with Varric soon after, likely after she had finished writing down a brief report of the day. Hopefully she left out some of the severity of the battle out of it, otherwise Cullen would be waiting for them at the gates to check her over for injuries while poorly pretending that he was doing nothing of the sort.

They ate dinner but by the time they finished Dorian was nearly swaying in his seat, straining to keep himself upright. Realizing that soon he was either going to make a fool of himself or fall face first into the campfire—and he couldn’t decide which would be worse—Dorian shakily stood. The others, who had been engaged in a friendly conversation that Dorian had slowly fallen out of, looked up at him curiously. “I’m going to turn in for the night.”

Evelyn’s brows drew together but nodded. “Good. Get some rest, Dorian; the three of us will handle keeping watch.”

Bull looked conflicted, an odd expression to see on his face. “I’ll join you soon.”

Dorian waved him off. “Nonsense, take your time. It’s still early yet and I’ll hardly be doing anything exciting.”

“It doesn’t have to be exciting every night.” Bull kept his tone light, almost teasing, but it didn’t fool Dorian for a second.

“I’ll be fine.”

With that, he turned and made his way across camp. He crawled into his tent and took his time stripping himself of his outer clothing. Bull’s pink scarf was first and he despaired for a moment when he saw that he’d gotten a splash of blood on the bottom corner of it. He couldn’t be sure but if he had to guess he’d say that it was his own. He’d have to clean it before he returned it. His boots were next, followed shortly by his various belts and heavy robes. Left in his leggings and a sleeveless tunic, he folded himself up on his bedroll and stared down at his arm.

He was certain now that the rogue and mage had teamed up against him expressly for the purpose of drawing his blood to use against him in some sort of blood magic ritual. It was haphazardly performed but there was no denying that’s what they were attempting to do. If only he could remember the incantation the mage had muttered. It had been in an old dialect of Tevene, one he’d only rarely encountered in his necromancy studies but was more commonly used for blood magic. He wouldn’t put it past the Venatori to utilize blood magic but the more he thought about it, the more the whole affair unsettled him. What if they hadn’t been Venatori? But what other Tevinter group was roaming about Orlais engaging Inquisition forces in combat? And Dorian knew he naturally drew attention but it still seemed as if he himself had been specifically targeted. As a mage, had they thought him the weakest link in the party? Or perhaps they knew who he was and it had been some sort of assassination attempt?

But why had they used blood magic? He had hoped he would never have to experience it again. Even now it was almost as if he could feel it’s taint in him, skittering along his skin and seeping into his veins.

He didn’t know how long he had spent caught up in his own thoughts but sooner than he expected he caught the entrance flap of the tent being pushed aside. Bull walked in to find Dorian sitting in the center of his bedroll, his legs crossed and his arms resting in his lap. He heard Bull sigh then sit down across from him but only looked up when he took Dorian’s hands and moved them into his own lap. “Maybe you should let one of the healers check you out when we get back to Skyhold.”

Dorian’s brow furrowed. “I’ve said I’m not proficient at healing, not that I can’t manage it. Here, inspect me yourself,” he flexed his arm in Bull’s hold, “not a scratch left.”

Bull obligingly lifted his arm and turned it over as he ran his gaze and fingertips over every inch of it. Dorian had been tense at first but relaxed bit by bit at the caressing touches. It never failed to surprise him how gentle those large hands of Bull’s could be. When Bull could find nothing wrong, he pressed a kiss to the inside of Dorian’s wrist before begrudgingly lowering his arm back into his lap again. But it seemed he wasn’t yet satisfied. “Did you get everything right under the skin too?”

“Fasta Vass, Bull,” Dorian rolled his eyes and pulled his arms free, “the cut wasn’t even that bad. Don’t mother hen me all night. Or at least have the courtesy to do it while I’m asleep.” Scooting himself to the head of his bed, he pushed his blanket down far enough to give himself space to wiggle underneath it. The bedroll and blanket were both cold and he shivered, cursing the Emprise du Lion once more.

Bull watched him, his brows still drawn. “There was just something weird about those ‘Vints and I don’t like that they got you…”

Dorian scoffed against the miserably small pillow he traveled with. “Hardly. And I’m a big, grown mage and I handled it. They might have had devious plans in mind but my blade put an end to those before they had a chance to start.”

A hum rumbled up from Bull chest, his gaze now far away. “I wish we’d caught one alive. I have a few questions I’d like to ask them.”

“I wish you would simply let me sleep,” Dorian griped back. “A decent night’s rest will set me right and I’ve run out of energy to continue properly rebuffing your concerns.”

Bull shook himself off and the corner of his lips quirked up. “Well, we can’t have that.” Dorian chuckled despite himself as Bull mimicked his diction and Bull’s expression softened. “Alright…Get some sleep, kadan. I’ll wake you up in the morning.”

“Thank you...” Dorian huffed out and rolled onto his side, away from Bull and his worrying, and pulled his blanket tightly around him. He heard Bull sigh but closed his eyes and tried to force himself to sleep. Despite his exhaustion, sleep didn’t come easily. Instead, his attention caught on every soft shuffle and shift Bull made as he readied himself for bed. And his own thoughts remained restless, lingering fears chilling him as much as the snow outside their tent. But he didn’t want to dwell on them now, he just wanted to be warm and he wanted to sleep. Poking his head out from his blanket cocoon, Dorian pouted back over his shoulder at Bull. “Lie down; it’s too cold.”

Bull met his gaze and Dorian had to wonder if he had ever looked away. “Let’s see if we can’t warm you up then.”

Within moments Bull had him wrapped up in his embrace and Dorian had his face buried against his chest and was breathing in his scent. It wasn’t entirely pleasant but was familiar and comforting and enough to finally lull him asleep.

Dorian came back into the world slowly. Bull was gone and, though the space he had taken up in the tent was still warm, all Dorian was able to feel was the chill against his back. He felt no better than he had when he had gone to sleep; worse, if anything. And somehow more exhausted. Which wasn’t…that wasn’t good. He didn’t know how bad it was but he knew it wasn’t good. It seemed he would have to pay a visit to the healers in Skyhold after all. But he would never admit such out loud; he’d never hear the end of it and didn’t want the others to worry needlessly.

Rolling onto his back, Dorian blinked up at the top of the tent and saw that it was fully illuminated by sunlight. “Fasta Vass...” he rasped. They must have let him sleep in which was the last thing he wanted. He had no doubt though they were only looking out for his best interest which almost made it worse; he was holding up the group. He scrambled to ready himself but was slowed by his clumsy hands.  His coordination was atrocious and he had to stop several times to wait for his vision to right itself as the world began to spin. He knew he’d have to mind himself around the others, particularly Bull, so when he finished he paused and took a moment to collect himself.

He could do this. This wasn’t so very different from being drunk, save for any of the pleasurable side effects. He had enough practice maintaining a sense of decorum then, he just had to apply that same focus to his behavior now. At the same time, he couldn’t overdo it, else that would be equally suspicious. Normalcy was what was needed.

When he finally stepped out of his tent, he allowed himself a small stumble and a curse under his breath as he glared up at the sun. He heard Varric chuckle and the dwarf patted his back as he walked by. “There he is! We were starting to take bets on how late you’d sleep in.”

“Is that so?” Dorian drawled back. It took all his efforts to keep his voice steady. “Who won?”

“Who do you think?” Varric’s next slap on his back nearly sent Dorian sprawling and it hadn’t even been that strong. He recovered himself just enough to see Varric jabbing a thumb in Bull’s direction. Bull grinned back in response and Varric shook his head. “I think Tiny had an unfair advantage.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you set the bet.”

“Next time I will.”

As they talked, Dorian looked around and realized that they had most of the camp packed up. In fact, the only thing left standing was the tent behind him. “You should have woken me earlier.”

“Wasn’t going to happen,” Evelyn grinned as she walked by. “Besides, we’re close enough to Skyhold that we don’t have to rush.”

“Oh no?” He raised a brow and pressed a teasing smile on his lips. “I would have thought that you would be all the more anxious to be reunited with your inamorato.”

Dorian laughed softly as that brought a blush to the Inquisitor’s face but she smiled back at him, “Waiting a few more hours won’t kill him.”

“No, I suppose not.” Cullen wouldn’t thank her for it though.

He managed to help Bull pack up their belongings and then they set off. Dorian counted it as an achievement that he was able to mount his horse without humiliating himself. He could only hide so much of his fatigue from them but when Bull noticeably reigned his mount in to ride alongside Dorian he shooed him away.  

He could make it.

That became his mantra as they rode on. Dorian kept his eyes centered ahead of him, on Bull’s and Varric’s backs as they rode ahead of him, Evelyn following behind, her attention, as ever, on the countryside around them. Bull and Varric were chatting about…something. He couldn’t quite make it out. Something funny, they were both laughing. Bull looked happy. When he wasn’t sneaking glances back at Dorian.

He could make it.

He could make it.

They were almost home now. They had made it to the narrow mountains pass that led to Skyhold’s secluded perch. Within moments they’d be able to see the ancient citadel in the distance.

Just an hour or two away at most.  

But just like the night before, it was steadily becoming more and more difficult to keep his eyes open. To even stay upright. With each step his horse took, Dorian slumped further over his saddle until his forehead was nearly pressed against his horse’s mane.

He could…

Maybe…maybe he couldn’t.

What…what was happening? Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong…

Why couldn’t he feel his hands?

Swallowing, Dorian tried to call out but couldn’t force the words from his throat. His vision tunneled and the last thing he was aware of was a wall of white and the sensation of falling.

“Dorian!”

Bull whipped around as he heard Evelyn cry out and horror gripped him as he saw Dorian tumble off of his horse and hit the path hard. By the time Dorian’s momentum had him rolling off over the edge, Bull was already leaping off of his own horse after him. “Shit!” Evelyn dismounted as Bull ran straight off of the path and down the steep slope after Dorian.

Dorian was doing nothing to stop himself and that was nearly as frightening as watching him slide down the snow-covered mountain side. Finally, he came to a stop as the steepness of the slope tapered off and it was just in the nick of time, inches away from the edge of a sheer drop-off. Bull was a second behind and as he neared him he heard the familiar twang of Bianca firing and a crossbow bolt embedded itself into the slope beside him with a rope attached, the other end of the rope in Varric’s hand. The dwarf motioned for Evelyn to grab it as well, both of them bracing themselves on the road above. “Careful, Tiny! If you slip you might knock both of you over the edge!”

His eyes snapped back to where Dorian was sprawled out, the right side of his face pressed into the loose snow he had knocked free during his descent and his dark hair and mustache covered in the white powder. His eyes were closed and stayed closed as Bull cautiously eased closer, painfully aware of how his added weight affected the shifting ice around them. “Dorian.” He didn’t so much as twitch as Bull called his name and a renewed fear stabbed at his chest. “Dorian! Hey!” Reaching out, he gently shook the mage’s shoulder but, still, nothing. “Vashedan…” Tightening his grip on Dorian’s shoulder, Bull moved until he was able to get a better grip on his arm then carefully pulled him in. “Come here. Easy.” He gathered Dorian against his chest with one hand, reaching back and gripping tightly onto the rope with the other. A moan slipped past Dorian’s lips but that was the only reaction Bull got, the mage’s head lolling back as he fell limp in Bull’s hold.

Adrenaline fueled his climb back up to the others, Evelyn and Varric both holding the rope steady as Bull used it to help navigate the slippery hillside. As soon as he reached the top, Evelyn dropped the rope and hurried forward to cup Dorian’s face in her hands. “Dorian!”

“He’s not responding.” Bull growled back in response. “Shit! I knew he was still feeling out of it but I didn’t think it was this bad.”

Varric’s expression was grim as he tucked Bianca away. “We need to get him back to the healers at Skyhold.”

Bull nodded and moved back toward his horse but Evelyn stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Bull, let me take Dorian. You have the biggest mount in Skyhold but Dorian’s not a small man and I don’t know if it could handle the combined weight.”

“Boss—”

“We’ll be able to move faster that way.”

Another growl rumbled out of Bull but he nodded. She was right, he knew she was. But he was scared to let Dorian go. “Mount up and I’ll pass him to you.”

Evelyn smoothed her hand down Bull’s arm then did as he said. She quickly climbed back up into her saddle and as soon as she was settled Bull lifted Dorian up, holding onto him until she had him positioned just the way she wanted him. If Bull hadn’t been so scared, the sight of Dorian curled up side-saddle in the woman’s lap would have almost been comical. But not when Dorian was so eerily still.  He swallowed and took a step back. “Get going. Varric and I will catch up.”

After a quick nod in confirmation, Evelyn nudged her horse forward, “Hold on, Dorian!”

As her horse galloped off, Bull quickly returned to his own horse as Varric pulled himself up onto his pony. “Don’t worry, Tiny. He’ll be alright.”

“I hope you’re right…”

They rode hard back to Skyhold, pushing their mounts as much as they dared. They caught up with Evelyn after about twenty minutes, but Dorian hadn’t regained consciousness. Skyhold came in and out of view as they wound their way further up through the mountains and then they rounded one more corner and suddenly the main gate was before them. The guards posted there waved but before they could get a word out in greeting Evelyn was already shouting at them, “Open the gates! Make way!”

The guards scrambled to obey and the heavy gates groaned as they pulled them open just in time for them to ride through. Bull and Varric broke off as they were met with a small crowd but Evelyn rode in straight through the makeshift camp that had been built around Skyhold to where their healers had set up. As a commotion erupted along the path she cut through Skyhold, Bull guided his mount straight to the stables, he and Varric startling Master Dennet right out of his seat as they burst in. From the other side of the barn, he heard Blackwall call out a question but left Varric to answer and Dennet to deal with his horse as he sprinted back through camp.

Meanwhile all of the disorder had quickly caught the attention of the guards and, in turn, their commander. Hand resting on the hilt of the blade at his hip, Cullen raced down the stone steps, a pair of guards at his heels. Bull had already disappeared into the healer’s quarters with Dorian but as he approached Evelyn hurried outside, having seen him coming through one of the windows. “Inquisitor! Has something happened?”

She looked out of breath, the normally kept-together woman disheveled. “It’s Dorian—Have Solas and Krem brought here immediately.”

Cullen turned to one of the guards behind him and motioned to the woman. “Fetch Solas from the tower. And Krem,” he turned to the second then hesitated and looked back at Evelyn, “what can Krem do?”

“He can help settle Bull.”

“Is Dorian’s situation so bad?”

“He…” Evelyn drew in a deep breath and wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s not good, Cullen.”

The worry he’d been keeping in finally broke over Cullen’s face and his eyes moved to the healer’s. “Maker’s breath…May I see him?”

She smiled weakly at his request. “I think he’d like that. But find Solas and Krem first, please.”

“At once.”

Within the hour, the Inquisitor’s entire inner circle had assembled in the healer’s small quarters, packed nearly to the walls as they all gathered around the cot Dorian had been laid out on. Krem had joined them and stood directly behind Bull who was sitting in a chair near the head of the cot, Krem’s hand on Bull’s shoulder and Bull’s hand in turn holding Dorian’s. The healer bustled about, flustered by all of the eyes on him as he worked to prepare a new set of potions but currently everyone’s attention was on Solas as he leaned over Dorian’s prone form with a concentrated frown. “You were correct in your initial assumption, Inquisitor; his condition is magically induced. I cannot say for certain which spell was used against him, but it appears to be a potent one.”

Evelyn met Bull’s gaze before her eyes turned back to Dorian. “Can you figure it out? Run some tests, fix him?”

A soft sigh escaped Solas as he straightened. “It would take time…time I am not certain he has. Dorian is a decently skilled mage; if this had had a simple solution he would have discovered it on his own.”

“A ‘Vint did this to him.” Bull growled. “Does that help narrow it down?”

“If it was a Tevinter mage, then there is an increased chance the strength of this spell may be due to blood magic.” But Solas didn’t seem comforted by the revelation. He gazed down at Dorian then shook his head. “If it was skillfully prepared, now that it has become systemic it may be impossible to reverse even if I am able to accurately diagnose it.”

Sera cursed and Evelyn pursed her lips before heaving a breath. “Please, Solas. You must try.”

“I will do my best.”

Vivienne strode forward at that, her face calm but determined. “And I shall help. Surely between the two of us we will discover a cure.”

Varric spoke into the silence that followed. “I’ll send some letters out to try and get in touch with some friends of mine who might be able to help but it could take a while to reach them…”

“Whatever you can do; no,” Evelyn quickly corrected herself, “whatever it takes.”

Bull could tell that she meant that and it offered some amount of comfort. Dorian was surrounded by the best Thedas had to offer, by people who cared for him. He was a core member of the Inquisition and as such he knew the Inquisition would use all its resources to see him well again.

Which made it all the more difficult when days crawled by and they weren’t able to do anything to slow Dorian’s decline. Vivienne and Solas worked night and day with the other mages to try to unravel whatever spell had been cast on Dorian and the healers plied him with every potion they could think to make with the rarest ingredients available but, still, nothing. And Dorian continued to get worse and worse and Bull couldn’t do a damn thing but sit there and watch as his breathing grew more labored and his pulse weakened. The others came to check in on him—more often than not there were five or six people around Dorian’s beside—but early in the morning two days after they returned to Skyhold Bull was alone when the healer came in to check on Dorian.

Bull had been napping in his chair but roused as the healer walked in and up to Dorian. He watched drowsily as the man raised Dorian’s arm to check his pulse but when the healer frowned he was instantly fully awake. “What is it?”

The man ignored him for a moment which made Bull’s anxiety shoot up. It didn’t dissipate as the healer leaned in and rested two fingers against Dorian’s throat. And it was only then that he realized in all the time that he’d been watching he hadn’t seen Dorian’s chest move. He wasn’t breathing. “Dorian—!”

“Serah Bull…” The healer hesitated as he looked up and met Bull’s panicked gaze. He looked away quickly and Bull watched as he loosened the sheet that they had placed over Dorian. A sick feeling settled heavy in his gut as the healer drew the sheet up then draped it over Dorian’s face like a shroud. “I’m sorry.”

It was a shroud. “No.” Bull leapt to his feet. “No, he’s not—!”

“There’s no breath, no heartbeat. He’s gone. At least he passed peacefully.”

“No.” Bull shook his head. Dorian couldn’t be— “This is wrong. There’s something wrong, something we missed.” The healer stumbled back as Bull lunged forward and tore the sheet from Dorian’s face. “Come on, Dorian. Wake up!” Reaching down, he gripped Dorian’s shoulders and shook him. “Don’t you fucking do this to me. Wake up!”

He wasn’t dead. How could he be dead? Not three days ago he had been alive and talking and laughing. There was no warmth to his skin but it was still soft to the touch, his expression calm and relaxed as if he was just sleeping. “Wake up!” His grip loosened on Dorian’s shoulders and he slumped forward, his forehead pressed against Dorian’s. “Wake up…Kadan…please…”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the healer hesitate, his hands held up beseechingly. “Serah Bull…Please…allow me to begin to prepare him for a service. I’m sure the Inquisitor will want to honor him before his burial.”

Burial? “What? No!” No one was going to bury Dorian and he’d fight off anyone who tried to take him from him. Seeing the healer start forward again, Bull snarled. He slipped one arm under Dorian’s knees and his other beneath his back and lifted him from the bed.

“Serah Bull!” The healer cried out but Bull blocked him out entirely as he made his way toward the door outside. “Quickly, someone fetch his Lieutenant!”

He carried Dorian up to the battlements then in through the back of the tavern to his room. It didn’t feel right, didn’t feel good enough, but he couldn’t think of anywhere better to go. This had always been the space they had shared together. Cursing, he cradled Dorian against his chest before carefully lying him out on the bed. “Kadan…” With his eyes closed, it looked as if nothing was wrong.

Bull didn’t know how long he stood there, just staring, but the next thing he registered was the sensation of being watched. His instincts had never betrayed him before so he was unsurprised when a voice finally echoed out behind him.

“Chief.”

He didn’t have to look back to recognize who it was. “Krem.”

“…You know,” he heard footsteps walking from the door to where he was standing and Krem appeared at his side, “when they’d told me you’d snatched Dorian’s body, I was really hoping that they were exaggerating.” His voice was thick and although Krem was maintaining a straight face there was nothing he could have done to hide the red in his eyes. He’d been crying. “…You ought to let him rest, Chief.”

“He is resting.”

Krem made a short noise in the back of his throat but he didn’t let whatever emotion that cause it show on his face. A part of Bull was proud of him. “The Inquisitor wants to have a wake in the Main Hall for him. She’s going to pull out all the stops. Dress him up in all his silk and silverite, bottomless barrels of wine with all his friends around him. It’ll be…I think it’s what he would’ve wanted. Not…this. He wouldn’t want this for him or you, Bull.”

“He can’t be dead…”

He didn’t mean to say it and the words came out as barely a whisper but Krem still heard it. “He is.”

Bull swallowed hard. Hearing it from Krem was like a punch in the gut. “…I’m not ready to let him go.”

He felt Krem look up at him but, instead of the protest he expected, Krem just rested a hand on his arm. “…Alright…” He patted his arm once then turned and left. Bull heard him close the door behind him.

He expected others to come after Krem left but after thirty minutes none did. Another hour passed by uninterrupted and then another and, still, nothing. It made him wonder if Krem had said something to the others but what could he really say? In the back of his mind, Bull knew he was being irrational. That what he was doing wasn’t right. But, looking at Dorian now, allowing anything else to happen to him felt as if it would be so much worse.

After being left undisturbed for several hours, the last person he’d expected to visit him was Cole. Bull felt a subtle change in the air that signaled his arrival and if he hadn’t felt it so many times before he would’ve started swinging. Instead, he just glanced over and found Cole standing on the other side of the room staring at Dorian, his brow furrowed as if he were confused.

“He is angry, frightened, screaming. Sinking deeper and deeper. Drowning. It feels like drowning.”

Bull swallowed and closed his eye. “Not now, kid.”

“He is no longer in this world.”

Bull barked out a mirthless laugh. “You mean he’s dead?”

Cole tilted his head and his gaze grew distant as if he were looking through Dorian as he lay prone on the bed. “No. He is…somewhere else. Through the Veil.”

Through the Veil. “So he’s dead.”

“No. At least, he doesn’t think so. Though he isn’t certain.”

As if he was still thinking, still alive. Clenching his hands, Bull took a breath to calm himself. “You should leave, Cole.”

“I want to help.”

“You can’t,” Bull choked out. No matter what kind of “help” he was offering, it was too late.

There was a pause then a soft rush of air against his back signaling Cole’s departure and he was again left alone.

The next visitor didn’t come until the sun went down. Bull had moved around the room to light a fire and center Dorian on the bed. He didn’t dare sit beside him so he sat on a bench at the foot of the bed, facing Dorian, instead. In the flickering light and shifting shadows, he could almost pretend that he saw his chest move or a finger twitch. It was in his head, all in his head, he knew that but he didn’t…feel it.

This time his visitor knocked and he looked up as the door swung open to reveal the Inquisitor herself. Like Krem, her eyes were red from crying, but unlike Krem she wasn’t trying to hide it. There were tear marks still on her cheeks and her normally kempt hair had loosened from her braid, probably from being held by Cullen. Bull wondered then how their Commander looked. He and Dorian were close.

She offered him a fragile smile and he could tell that she was struggling not to look over at Dorian. “Hello, Bull. Have you eaten?”

“Not recently.” How long had it been? It didn’t feel like it should matter.

“I know you’re hurting, Bull. I love—” her eyes fell to Dorian then and her breath shuddered, “loved Dorian but I can’t begin to imagine what you are going through. And I want to be respectful of you and your grief because you’re right to feel it but…” her gaze returned to him. He could see pain there but couldn’t tell if it was for Dorian or himself. “Bull. It’s been nearly a full day since he passed and Dorian, his body, it won’t last much longer as it is. I want to give him a proper ceremony. I…I’ve even researched funeral rites of the Imperium, so that we can honor his heritage. Despite all the flaws he saw, he loved his homeland enough to want to see it change for the better.”

“Boss…”

“Please, Bull. Let us take him. He would want to be remembered as he is now but soon he’ll…his body will begin to decay.” Evelyn’s voice broke. “I don’t want to see him like that anymore than he would want us to see him in such a state.”

Bull’s stomach soured just at the thought of it. He could imagine it just as easily as she could. She was right. But he wasn’t ready. “Cole was here. He said Dorian’s not dead.” It was a desperate grab at hope.

She closed her eyes then, after taking a deep breath, met his gaze again with a mirthless smile. “I don’t know if Cole understands death the way we do.”

Shaking his head, Bull dragged his hands over his face. “Something’s not right. He doesn’t look dead.”

Evelyn’s sad smile grew more genuine then and she looked back over at Dorian. “Death doesn’t always have to be ugly or bloody. Sometimes it can even be…beautiful. And you know Dorian would hardly accept showing anything less than his best, even to the last.”

“…I can’t let you take him yet, Boss. I’m sorry.” And he truly was. He just couldn’t let her take her and see Dorian buried.

She fell silent for a long moment before she nodded. “I trust you, Bull. And I trust that you’ll do what’s best for Dorian. You will, won’t you?”

“Yeah…”

She left him after that, with that lone thought reverberating through his mind: he had to do what was best for Dorian.

The third day after the morning Dorian was pronounced dead dawned cold and clear. The inner circle sans Bull was gathered around one of the tables in the main hall. Evelyn was slouched over the table with Cullen standing beside her, his hand resting gently on her back. They’d gathered for breakfast but no one had much of an appetite for it. And they certainly didn’t once she spoke, her voice broken. “I need to go get him.”

“You will do no such thing,” Cullen rumbled quietly. He looked a wreck, like he hadn’t slept in days, but no one said a thing against it. “You’re in no shape and if anyone is to go it should be one of our warriors, just in case…”

“Do you really think Bull would become violent?”

“Perhaps. I couldn’t say for certain. Who knows what a broken man might do...?” He shook his head. “I’ll go to Bull myself.”

Beside him, Cassandra straightened in her seat. “Cullen…”

Cullen frowned and his fatigue showed as he snapped back at her. “What would you have me do, Cassandra? Time is not on our side. Dorian already must be…We need to take action now.”

Cassandra’s brow creased. “Yes, but you two were so close and to see him in the state he must be in…”

“None of us are strangers to death or the effects of it on a body.”

To Cullen’s surprise, it was Blackwall who answered him. He had been pacing the length of the table behind the other’s chairs but turned at that, expression stern. “Just because we’re not strangers to it doesn’t mean you should have to force yourself. I’ll go. Dorian was a fine man but we are, were not as close as he was to you.”

Evelyn raised her head as Cullen met Blackwall’s gaze. “And Bull?”

“I may not know the Iron Bull as well as I should, but I do know the thoughts of a broken man. The Chargers have lost him; I’m as well qualified as any other to deal with him. Dorian deserves more dignity in death than this, and I believe Bull will come to regret his actions if we don’t put a stop to it.”

Evelyn sighed in relief. “Thank you, Gordon.”

Cullen looked nearly as relived. “If we don’t hear from you within two hours I’ll send the guard to offer reinforcements.”

“If you don’t hear from me in two hours, you’d best start preparing for a second funeral because it would mean that the Bull has ripped me apart.”

Bull blinked as there was a knock on his door. His muscles felt tight…How long had it been since he had moved? He remembered eating at some point. Sera had brought him up a bowl of stew and hadn’t left him alone until he ate it. She hadn’t come inside the room though. Didn’t want to see Dorian. This, though, this wasn’t Sera.

His knee protested as he pushed himself up to his feet and walked over to the door. He’d locked it after Sera, just in case. But this was the knock of someone who meant business and he knew he couldn’t ignore it otherwise whatever it was would likely only get worse.

He was right.

When he swung the door open, he found Blackwall standing at attention. “I’m here for Dorian. It’s time.”

“Is it?” Bull responded neutrally.

Blackwall narrowed his eyes but stepped in as Bull motioned for him to do so. He remained facing Bull though, like he was a dangerous animal. He supposed he was right to think so. It also meant that he didn’t have to look at Dorian laying on the bed behind him.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Blackwall stared him down. “It’s the third day.”

“The third day…?” Had it already been that long?

Blackwall continued forcing his words out. “His body has not been properly tended to with any sort of preservatives. We need to prepare him for burial now before he gets any worse.”

“You’re right about the preservatives...” Bull’s brow furrowed and he walked over to the foot of the bed. Blackwall’s eyes followed him but he didn’t seem eager to turn and fully face the bed and what lay on it. But as Bull gazed down at Dorian, his mind raced. “You know as well as I do the stages of decomposition. Three days in, bodies are already starting to get pretty discolored and messy.”

“Enough.”

“You haven’t looked at him yet.”

“I know what I will see.” Blackwall’s voice was rough with buried emotion.

“Do you?” Bull scowled and pointed at Dorian. “Look at him.”

“Bull…”

“Look. At. Him.” The command wrenched a growl out of the man but he squared his shoulders then turned. He froze before he even completed the movement and his eyes went wide. Bull’s heartrate sped up. Was Blackwall seeing the same thing he was? Or was this just some strange hallucination? “Is that what death looks like, Blackwall?”

Dorian hadn’t changed, not an inch. He was no paler than he’d been the moment he was pronounced dead. There was no discoloration, no swelling or sinking, there was no odor or decomposition. He still looked for all the world as if he were sleeping.

“No…” Blackwall shook his head, “How is this possible? He looks as if he took his last breath mere seconds ago.”

A sense of relief flooded through Bull so quickly that he felt lightheaded and had to lower himself back onto his bench. It wasn’t just him. Dorian really wasn’t—“It’s possible because he’s not dead. Vashedan.” He barked out a laugh, “He’s not dead.”

Blackwall looked as if he had seen a ghost. He had, in a way. “What magic is this?”

“It’s probably the same shit that put him under.”

Nodding, Blackwall seemed to be at a loss. Then he blinked and nodded again. “I’ll go alert the others. I’m glad you did not let us bury him.”

“Shit. Me too.”

Blackwall ran all the way back to the main hall, instantly capturing everyone’s attention as he threw open the double doors, and the news that Dorian wasn’t as dead as they all feared had barely left his lips before the others flew into action. Immediately everyone was rushing about in every direction and Evelyn was calling for calling for an emergency War Table meeting. And she asked that one of the guards summon Bull to join them.  

It was a hard thing to leave Dorian for the first time in almost three and a half days of holding a constant vigil but Bull called Krem up to take his place and went. He arrived to find the Inquisitor and her advisers gathered around the war table, waiting on him. Josephine was already scribbling notes at a lightning speed while Cullen paced and Leliana gazed thoughtfully out the large bank of windows. Evelyn greeted Bull with a tight hug then brought the meeting to order. “Both Blackwall and Bull have confirmed: Dorian may not be breathing and he may have no heartbeat but he somehow remains alive. Or, at least not dead.”

Cullen ran a hand over his face then raked his fingers back roughly through his hair and resumed his pacing. “So he’s dead, but he’s not dead. Maker’s breath, it’s just like Dorian to make something as basic as death so complicated.”

There was a pause in the steady sound of quill on parchment and Josephine looked up. “Do you think his state might have anything to do with his abilities as a necromancer?”

Bull and Cullen both shook their heads at the same time and Cullen waved at Bull to explain. “Dorian’s got an impressive line of tricks up his sleeve as a necromancer but this isn’t one of them. He has his Simulacrum, where a spirit he’s controlling takes his form.” If only Dorian could hear him now. He’d be proud he actually paid attention during all of the lectures he liked to give. Bull heard every word. “But this isn’t that. That’s him on the bed, not a copy. He couldn’t maintain that sort of spell for this long in the state he’s in.”

Evelyn frowned. “Vivienne and Solas never stopped their research so with any luck they will have a remedy soon…How long do you think he can stay like this?”

The question was directed at all of them but it was Leliana who replied, turning away from the window with one brow raised. “Who knows? He may outlast us all.”

Evelyn shook her head. “Where should we have him stay?”

Bull’s answer was immediate. “He can stay where he is in my room.”

“We don’t know how long this will take—Days? Weeks? Months?—you need to be able to use your room, Bull.”

Josephine looked up from her notes again. “There’s space in the Chantry room, as small as it is. We could make him comfortable there.”

“No,” Leliana tilted her head, “I do not think Dorian would approve of such an arrangement, as quiet and solemn as it is. I propose we utilize the top floor of the mages’ tower. It is bright and open there. And this ailment was cause by magic and magic must be the solution; what better place for him to preside over then than the center of our research in the subject?”

Evelyn thought for a moment then nodded. “That sounds perfect. Dorian will be happy, I think.” A small smile spread on her lips. “The view from the top of the tower is lovely. And it even looks over the training field so he can keep an eye on you.”

She nodded to Bull and his words caught in his throat for a moment. He cleared it and grinned. He hated the idea of not having Dorian close but, “Yeah. He would like that.” And the mages’ tower wasn’t too far from the tavern. “Thanks, Boss.”

Dorian slowly came to, becoming aware of one sense then another until all five returned. Scent…it was the sense of smell that returned first but it didn’t smell right, and then it was, was it taste? Why did it taste of ozone? It felt as if he were sinking through some thick gelatinous liquid and then…

Dorian could suddenly breathe again and a rush of air left his lungs as he fell flat against the ground. Groaning, he floundered gracelessly for a moment before forcing himself to roll over onto his hands and knees. His hands slipped on the rock beneath him. Was it rock? Why was it slick with damp? Blinking the fog from his eyes, Dorian focused first by looking at his hands but when he noted that they were tinged green by the ambient light his gaze shot up as realization struck.

He was in the Fade.

But it didn’t look as it normally did in his dreams. No, it was more akin to how it had appeared when he had fallen into the Fade at Adament with Evelyn, Bull, Cassandra, Hawke, and poor Stroud. Was he dreaming of that day so many weeks ago now? Or was he there again? It was impossible to tell.

Groaning, he clenched his jaw and slowly, too slowly, pushed himself up and onto his feet. Once he was standing, he took a moment to straighten his robes and collect himself. Well, he seemed whole and unharmed. That was a start. He was unarmed though, his staff having disappeared at some point during his journey, and he was alone. Neither bode well.

“Dorian.”

A shiver crawled up his spine. Or perhaps he wasn’t quite alone as he thought. Unfortunately enough; he knew that voice.

Turning, he spotted an unmistakable figure emerging from the shadowy haze that seemed to envelope the near distance of the Fade. “Hello, Father.” He drew himself up as Halward Pavus drew near. Fear and hesitation were weaknesses he could not afford to show. “How did you get me here? Some sort of rudimentary blood magic, I assume?”

Halward answered him in a deceivingly neutral tone. “Astute as ever, Dorian. It was through blood magic mixed with a minimal amount of thaumaturgy.”

Dorian scoffed. “Thaumaturgy?” That was Dorian’s particular line of study and something that his father had previously shown little interest in.

“Chronomancy predominately.”

“Time magic? What do you know of thaumaturgy or chronomancy?”

“Arrogant boy. I knew of Alexius’ research before you even began your work at the Circle and I knew something of the progress you made together.”

“And what of the progress I made myself? What do you know of that?” Halward remained silent in favor of offering Dorian a condescending look and Dorian rolled his eyes in disgust. And his father dared to call him arrogant. “What aspects of this have been altered by chronomancy?” He waved his hand through the air in a quick experimentation but, no, there was no noticeable slowness or quickness and neither did his father appear to poses any.

“Nothing that you would recognize in your current state.”

Dorian narrowed his eyes, trying to read the truth between the lies. “And what does that mean?”

Halward waved a hand and begun to walk around Dorian in a circle. He maintained a safe distance, however, as he stalked about and Dorian felt distinctly like prey under his predatory gaze. He’d been there before and he didn’t care to relive the sensation. “I anticipated that this would take some time; I did not want your body to pay the price for it so I adapted some of Alexius’ research and made the necessary adjustments.”

His mind raced as he tried to think of what pieces of his former mentor’s research his father might have gotten hold of. “What is ‘this’ that you are doing?”

“I am doing what I must to put you on the right path, Dorian.”

“Is this…?” Dorian’s brows drew together and his eyes darkened. “Yes. I see now. I see what this is about: your precious fucking legacy. What was it that finally drove you to this? My association with the Inquisition? Wait, no, it was nothing even that meaningful, was it? Was it simply that I wasn’t coming home, tail between my legs, ready for you to wed me off?”

“Now Dorian…”

Anger rose up hot in Dorian’s chest and his hands clenched at his side. He would no longer abide by such condescension. “Do not speak to me in such a tone! I am not a child!”

Halward paused, as if caught off guard by the strength of Dorian’s reaction, before his words returned. “You’re right; you are no longer a child and it is time that I stopped treating you as one. That is why I have brought you here, Dorian.”

“What?”

“My initial attempts to…help you find your way were unsuccessful and I realized that a more direct approach would be the most successful. My previous experimentation with blood magic was not powerful enough to change you but I have found a way to do it.”

All of Dorian’s anger was extinguished as an ice-cold fear gripped him. “What have you done?”

“I need to draw on the power of the Fade simultaneously as I cast and this was the most efficient space to allow me direct access to both you and the Fade. But first, we’ll of course need blood.”

Dorian’s eyes quickly darted around, “And where will we find that, hmm? It doesn’t seem like you’ve dragged any poor soul in here with you to sacrifice.” He couldn’t see any slaves but if his father was hiding them somewhere he silently vowed that he would find them and free them before any harm could be done to them. His time in the Inquisition had taught him that he could do no less.

His father had the gall to shake his head, as he used to when he asked Dorian a question as a child and he failed to produce the correct response. “To further increase the potency of the spell, the blood must come from the intended target.”

Immediately Dorian drew himself back into a defensive stance that Cassandra had taught him. “If you intend to fight me then, come, let’s have it out.” Staff or no staff, he was prepared to engage Halward in a fight. He had years of emotions that he’d be more than happy to work out with his fists.

“It is not me you will be fighting.” Dorian frowned at his answer then looked harder past his father, into the fog. But then he noticed that his father’s own gaze was on something over Dorian’s shoulder. Spinning around, he stumbled when he caught sight of one of the largest fear demons he had ever seen flaked on either side by a rage demon. “Don’t worry.” He could barely hear his father over his own growing panic. “I won’t allow them to completely destroy you. They will spill your blood, break your resolve, and then I will complete the ritual.”

Those words did reach Dorian and he turned once more to face his father. “You blighted fool!”

“Goodbye, Dorian.” His father raised his hand as if to bid him farewell then began to vanish, the fog overtaking him as he began to exit the Fade.

“No!” Dorian lunged forward but it was too late; his father was gone.

Cursing, he used his momentum to swing himself back around and face the demons. A cold sweat beaded up on his brow as he stared them down and he called lightning to his hands. It was unwieldy and sharp against his fingers without his staff to focus it; lightning was not his forte to begin with and it was all the more difficult now, but fire would not be effective against the rage demons.

He took a cautious step back and then another as the fear demon screeched at him and began to approach, the rage demons not far behind. “Wake up. Wake up, Pavus.” He swallowed. Evelyn wasn’t here with him to have opened a rift, he couldn’t be physically in the Fade. That meant he could wake up. He had to wake up. “Focus on the physical sensations of…no?” It wasn’t working. “Alright then.” He released a shaky exhale. “Pain works. On my own terms though. Here we are—” He clenched his hands, charged the electricity until sparks flew from them, then slammed his palms against his chest, shooting lightning bolts straight into his chest. His whole body jerked as a sharp twinge jumped through him and every muscle in his body spasmed. His knees instantly gave out and he collapsed to the ground. “Ah! Kaffas!”

Dorian shuddered then struggled back to his feet. The demons were nearly upon him now, he had no choice. He had felt it though, the pain. Why wasn’t he waking? He’d never been unable to rouse himself from the Fade before, even when he was a child.

What was the last thing he remembered from the real world? He was on horseback. Snow, white snow everywhere. They were on their way back to Skyhold. Then he had, had he fallen off his horse? Venhedis. They had been on a narrow mountain road. If he had fallen off his horse, he could have easily rolled right over the edge of a cliff and—

Was he dead?

Releasing a long, shuddering breath, Dorian again adopted his defensive stance. Dead or not, Dorian Pavus would not allow himself to be demon fodder.

Evelyn helped Bull redress Dorian in a set of loose pants and tunic from his wardrobe and then Bull carried Dorian up to the tower. Vivienne had her own chaise brought up from her lounge area in the loft of the great hall for him to rest on, claiming that Dorian had always “loved to sprawl across it”, and Sera nicked the silk sheets Dorian had requisitioned for his bed months ago from his room and brought them up for him to use now. Josephine arranged for a desk and a chair to be brought up as well and it turned out to be a smart move.

Dorian had a constant watch.

When he was in Skyhold, the job fell to Bull more often than not and he sat at the desk writing reports or pulled the chair over to Dorian and just sat and held his hand. Sometimes the Chargers would join him and they’d drink that shitty Ferelden ale Dorian always said he hated but secretly loved and quietly recounted their old jobs; they’d always bring up and extra mug of ale and set it beside Dorian.

Cullen came up and would take his turn at the desk sometimes for hours, having all of his messages rerouted to the tower. At first it made the mage apprentices on the floors below nervous to have the ex-Templar so close and to have his soldiers running errands in and out but Cullen was mindful of it and began stripping himself of his sword and armor when he visited which seemed to put the mages more at ease.

Evelyn was busy, as she always was, but she would make a point to visit at least once every day and she would help Bull wipe Dorian down with a damp cloth or adjust him on the chaise.

Vivienne would fastidiously adjust the collar of his shirt or the fold of his blanket until they lay just so against Dorian and Bull would smile when he returned to find everything perfectly positioned with a fresh candle lit and Ma’am’s perfume lingering in the air.

Sera would slip in and just talk, about everything and nothing, and occasionally leave cookie crumbs behind which Vivienne or Evelyn would inevitable clean up before Bull could think to.

Leliana would come and sing and Josephine would do a full inventory of the room and make sure any supplies that had dwindled—paper, ink, candles, care products they used for Dorian—were promptly restocked.

Cassandra would pull the chair up right to Dorian’s bedside and read full chapters of her newest book out loud to him and Varric would come in and sit and tell him stories of past adventures, both true and invented.

Even Blackwall and Solas came, both making sure to pay their respects and check in on his condition but it was only ever the same: Dorian remained dead by all appearances.

Vivienne and Solas had hit a metaphorical wall with their research. They had been able to break it down and assess its elemental components but neither were able to exactly determine how the blood magic and chronomancy fit together or how to reverse it. As Vivienne put it, half the type of magic they were dealing with was dangerous and illegal and the other half was until very recently entirely theoretical. Bull was heartened by the fact that while time had passed Dorian had not gotten any worse, and that was as much as he could hope for right now.

But now the inner circle had retired around the card table for a well-deserved respite. Just for an hour or two. Dagna was with Dorian in the interim; she said that just speaking around him helped her work out some of her trickiest problems. As Varric dealed everyone who was playing in, Evelyn scowled down at her cards. “There must be someone we could write to who would be able to help. A researcher, or blood mage, or a better healer. Someone. Anyone!” Bull felt her frustration; even with all of the resources the Inquisition had at its disposal, there was just no help to be found.

Varric sighed as he leaned back in his chair. “I contacted Daisy but she doesn’t know of any spells that would do something like this.”

Cullen’s jaw tightened before he glanced over at Varric. “Have you written to him yet?”

Half the table, including Bull and Evelyn, looked over at him, confused, but Varric only shrugged. “I’ve tried but Blondie’s doing a real good job at hiding himself. Can’t blame him…Hawke doesn’t know where he is and I don’t know if my letter even reached Broody yet. No one else has any leads about where he’s at.”

Releasing a noise of disgust, Cassandra slammed her cards down at the other end of the table. “Enough waiting! If we want to discover the cause of Dorian’s ailment, we must go to the source.”

Vivienne raised a brow calmly from across the table. “And what are you planning to do?”

“Whatever must be done.” She turned in her chair to look down at Evelyn. “Who were these people who infected Dorian with this curse?”

She glanced at Cullen but answered back as truthfully as she could. “They appeared to be Venatori but I don’t think they were actual members. Definitely Tevinter though. I wish I’d asked Dorian about it that night but I just wanted him to get some rest…”

Cassandra was undeterred. “Then I will lead a party out and we will track them down and force answers from them. I will march into Tevinter if I must.”

A small, rueful smile flickered onto Cullen’s lips. “That would be a formidable task.”

“I am a formidable woman. Now, who is with me?”

Bull would have volunteered in a heartbeat but he didn’t want to leave Dorian’s side for so long. Cassandra looked around the table expectantly and Sera’s hand shot up, “The prissy Seeker’s got her mind right about this one. Nothing’s being done for mage bits, so we need to go out and do it, yeah?”

“Precisely.” Cassandra nodded. “Varric, you were with the original travel party. You will come with me to identify the Tevinters.”

“Alright, Seeker, you don’t need to twist my arm this time. I want these guys caught as bad as you do.”

“I will go with you as well,” Blackwall rumbled from Cassandra’s left. “You’ll need all the help you can get.”

“Thank you, Gordon. Having a Grey Warden with us may prove useful.”

Evelyn looked around the table and smiled grimly. “Thank you, Cassandra, for leading this. Solas?” Solas lifted his head from where seemed to have been meditating on something. “Can you accompany them? They will need a mage with them and you would be the best to have in the field in case there are any texts that need to be deciphered on site. Since our resident Tevinter Arcanist is indisposed.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

“Good.” Fire sparked in Cassandra’s eyes as she snatched her cards back up. “We will leave at first light in the morning.”

They did just that. Even Sera was up and ready to go at dawn the next morning and they rode out on the Inquisition’s fastest horses.

Leliana kept a close watch on them, exchanging ravens with Cassandra nearly every night, and relayed any news to the rest of them as soon as she received it. Days, then weeks, passed and they made their way west through the Frostbacks and then into the heart of Orlais but found nothing but rumors. But they chased each and every one down and followed the Tevinters’ trail further west still until they reached the great expanse of the Hissing Wastes. Bull’s heart sunk when he heard it—there was no better place to disappear than the Wastes—but in that moment he had forgotten just how tenacious Cassandra was. The woman was a force of nature and he had no idea how, but, with the help of the others, she hunted them down like dogs until she managed to corner them in a canyon. And then they had them.

Within two days Solas himself sent a raven back to Leliana with a long note detailing the nature of the spell that had previously alluded himself and Vivienne. They had been hired by a Tevinter magister—no name was given—to initiate a blood magic spell against Dorian. Elements of thaumaturgy had been entwined into the spell and the result was that Dorian was trapped in the Fade while his body was being maintained by the spell in stasis. The spell itself was being conducted through the Fade, controlled by the Tevinter Magister who had hired them and who never had to leave Tevinter to do it.

Knowing what the problem was was only half the battle through. Solas still didn’t have a fool-proof solution to how they might be able to bring Dorian back and wouldn’t be able to test any of his theories until he returned to Skyhold. But that would take another few weeks and in the meantime those remaining at Skyhold weren’t about to just sit back and wait some more.

“Dorian is in the Fade, right? Could I just,” Evelyn waved her left hand, “open a rift and go get him?”

Immediately everyone was shaking their head but Cullen physically recoiled at the thought of it. “No. Evelyn, I want to help Dorian just as much as anyone here but I cannot allow you to take that risk. I, we all, almost lost you. If there is any other option, we should try it first.”

Vivienne pursed her lips and looked down at Dorian. They were all standing in his tower, having amassed there after Leliana had returned with Solas’ report. “Must we physically be in the Fade to help him? After all, Dorian himself isn’t. His body is still here in this bed--it’s only his mind that is gone.”

Bull grunted. “When you sleep, your consciousness goes to the Fade, right?” He didn’t know shit about all of that and didn’t like to think about it. But he’d make an exception in this case.

Evelyn quickly picked up on his train of thought. “If we can find him then, while we’re sleeping, maybe we can help him.”

Cole, who had remained silent until then, spoke up from his spot in the far corner of the room. “Would you like to help too, the Iron Bull?”

“Qunari don’t dream, kid. Not the way humans and elves do.” The first time he’d ever experienced the Fade had been at Adament, which wasn’t the best experience.

“If you want, I can help you.”

With a hoarse shout, Dorian ended the Wall of Fire he had summoned to finish off a particularly vicious pride demon, the latest and to-date worst creature that had come for him. As the adrenaline faded he was able to feel the wound the thing’s whip had sliced into his chest and he bent over, pressing one hand to try and staunch some of the blood as he braced his other arm against his thigh to keep himself upright. He clenched his jaw as another wave of pain rolled through him, leaving an awful numbness in its wake. Too much blood…he was bleeding too much. It wouldn’t do at all. “That was barely a tickle!” He called out roughly into the Fade, “You’ll have to try harder than that to break me!” Tasting copper, he grimaced and spat onto the ground. More blood.

“…Dorian…?”

Biting back a groan, Dorian straightened, wincing as he did so but ready to face the next onslaught. At least so he thought. But he was entirely unprepared for the sight of none other than the Iron Bull walking through the fog toward him. “What new trick is this?” His knees nearly gave out. The one person he yearned to have now by his side so badly…of course the demons would discover it and torture him with it. “How dare you wear his face?!”

“Kadan, it’s me.” Bull held up his hands as if to show he were unarmed, like such a thing mattered. A sharp pain shot through Dorian that had nothing to do with the gouge on his chest. The thing had taken his form flawlessly, though Bull’s face seemed a bit pale and strained; even his voice was right. “Shit, look at you. They’ve really done a number on you.”

“Don’t!” Dorian groaned as his voice broke and threw up a hand, letting a large flame flare to life in his palm. “Not a step closer.”

“You’re afraid to trust, to believe.” Dorian flinched as a soft voice seemed to materialize from the air. But it too was familiar. “You don’t want him—not him—to hurt you and you don’t want to have to hurt him either. It is the Iron Bull, though. I brought him. He can help.”

“Cole?” Against all of his wishes, hope sprang up in Dorian’s heart and he knew then that they had him. After all of his fighting and struggling, all it took was a small flicker of hope to finally break him. Tears he had been holding in for so long finally slipped down his cheeks, cutting paths through the grime and gore that coated nearly every inch of his skin, and he shakily lowered himself to kneel on the ground, no longer able to hold himself up. He squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a shaky breath. “I’m tired. Amatus, I’m so tired.”

“Dorian…” Dorian’s eyes snapped back open as he heard his name on Bull’s lips. Bull sounded worried. It made Dorian want to believe so badly that he was truly there. He needed Bull to be there.

Then Bull made a move toward him and Dorian threw his hand back out. “No! Please, stay back. I can’t…I can’t trust that it’s you. Please, for me…”

He watched as Bull swallowed but stilled again, his large hands clenched at his side. “Tell me how I can help you, kadan.”

“I don’t know if you can. I don’t—” Dorian cut himself off, his eyes widened as he saw a shadow rise up from the ground behind Bull. “Behind you!”

“What? Shit!” Bull spun and found himself face to face with a despair demon. The thing released its deafening shriek and lunged forward but Dorian was already back on his feet and casting a red-hot flare of fire at it. Bull, truly unarmed, scrambled for anything he could use as a weapon and his hand closed around a large rock which he hefted at the demon just as Dorian’s spell made contact. Its shriek changed in pitch as its dark robes were engulfed in flame then silenced as the rock Bull had thrown crashed into its skull.

Panting, Dorian watched as it turned to smoke then looked back to Bull. There were five angry looking scratch marks cutting across the grey skin on his chest and Dorian hissed at the sight of it. Even if Bull was a demon in disguise, it hurt too much to see his lover injured. “Bull…Here, let me—” Dorian lurched forward but this time his words were cut off by the sensation of running into a wall. Cursing, Dorian reeled back then felt out the air in front of him. It was as if there was an invisible barrier separating himself from Bull.

A sharp, pained laugh burst from Dorian’s throat. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that when he had finally given in he wasn’t even able to reach his amatus. But it also meant that maybe, just maybe, Bull really was the Iron Bull. A demon wouldn’t help Dorian by fighting off another demon. And a demon wouldn’t stop him from reaching him.

Fresh tears began to run down Dorian’s cheeks and he slumped forward against the barrier in relief. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”

Bull looked equally relieved and he stepped forward, close enough that Dorian could have touched him. “Yeah. Dorian, I’m here. I’m right here.”

“I don’t know how to escape. Nothing I’ve ever learned is working.” His breath left him and he made himself meet Bull’s gaze. “Is there even anything left for me to wake to?”

Bull understood instantly, just as he always did. “You’re not dead, Dorian.”

“Am I not?”

“No.”

“Are you certain?”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything. You’re alive, Dorian. You’re just trapped here.”

“Trapped…?” Dorian’s eyes narrowed then his gaze shot down as a binding glyph suddenly appeared on the ground beneath his feet. Blood red in color, the lines looking like decaying gouges cut into the Fade and ended exactly where the barrier existed between him and Bull.

“What are those?”

Bull’s voice had been tight but Dorian was suddenly breathless. “Binding glyphs. I didn’t…couldn’t see them before.”

“Can you undo them?”

“Of course. With time.”

They both looked up and Dorian realized that between whatever magic Cole was using to bring Bull to the Fade and the revealing of the binding glyph had caught the attention of more demons. A veritable swarm appeared to Dorian’s right, larger than any group he’d yet faced. But he had hope now.

“Dorian!”

Dorian’s eyes darted back to Bull and he waved at him before focusing on the demons before him. “Go now, amatus! Before you’re caught as well!”

“You’re gonna fight your way out of this shithole and come back to me. Dorian!”

“Yes. Yes, alright!”

“Don’t let them wear you down!”

Hearing a sharp edge of desperation to Bull’s voice, Dorian turned to face him one last time. “Please.” He drew in a breath and even as his smile wavered he kept his voice strong. “I could do this all day.”

Bull woke with a start and a choked yell, Dorian’s name on his lips.

"Hey, Chief, easy!"

The sound of a familiar voice kept him from starting to swing punches around and he grunted as Krem and Stitches hauled him up into a sitting position.  He blinked his eye open and found himself back in his room in the tavern. Cole was gone, or maybe he'd never even been there, but the Chargers were and Stitches gave him a concerned once-over. “You’ve been out for a full day.”

Bull shook his head to try and rid himself of the lingering sensation of being in the Fade. “Only felt like a few minutes…” But it had been more than enough. And Dorian— "I need to get back to the tower."

The others moved back to let him stand but Krem dogged his heels as he stumbled out of the room. "What happened? Did you find Dorian?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And he's not doing good."

Krem swore in Tevene and Bull picked up his pace. He took the stairs up the tower two at a time and found Evelyn, Vivienne, and Cullen gathered around Dorian. Bull blinked and then he noticed Cole sitting on the window sill nearby, the boy giving him a small wave as Evelyn rounded on him. “What happened?”

It was Cole who answered, the boy’s gaze now on Dorian from beneath his hat. “The Iron Bull helped. He isn’t dead, he knows that now. And now he knows how to come home.”

That was a lot more optimistic than Bull would've started with. “He’s getting torn apart in there.”

Cole tilted his head then nodded in understanding. “The demons feel his pain and are drawn to it.”

Cullen stiffened, his back going ramrod straight, and took a subconscious step away from Dorian. “Demons?”

Beside him, Vivienne frowned, the break in her stoicism more telling than most peoples' curses. “On top of everything else, he is in danger of becoming an abomination.”

"Maker's breath," Cullen breathed. “I’ll clear the tower and set some precautions.”

“Cullen.”

Evelyn's shoulders fell and Cullen shook his head apologetically, “I trust Dorian but I have seen good men succumb when weakened. Maker forbid it should happen to Dorian but he wouldn’t want anyone to be harmed if it does.” As much as Bull wanted to argue against it, he couldn't find any fault in Cullen's logic.

As their Commander hurried down the stairs to make preparations, Evelyn looked back to Bull. "If Dorian is able to bring himself out of the Fade, how long do you think he'll be?"

"I don't know. Time's all fucked up in there. I only felt like I was there for ten, fifteen minutes at most but Stitches said I was out for most of the day." Evelyn nodded in confirmation and he swallowed, the memory of the wave of demons descending on Dorian flashing through his mind. "Dorian needs to work fast so hopefully he'll come back within the day." And if he didn't, there was a chance he wouldn't be coming back at all.

"Alright." Evelyn nodded then lifted her chin, "Alright, let's get ourselves ready."

A pained gasp burst from Dorian’s lungs and he lurched forward—up?—as he felt bile well up in his throat. Everything hurt, like every inch of his skin was on pins and needles, somehow burning and freezing at the same time. Then he felt hands, hands on his shoulders and arms, but he barely had time to acknowledge them before he threw himself over, nearly off of whatever he was resting on, and retched. He heard a shout above the ringing in his ears but he couldn’t be bothered to translate it as more of the bile welled up and he vomited again.

His throat burned as did his eyes but he forced them open and grimaced as he took in the sight of the black, tar-like substance that had come out of him. Whatever toxic mix that had been forced into him and festered inside for—hours? Days? He had no sense of time, but it was only then that he fully comprehended that he was finally, blessedly, awake.

Gripping the edge of his bed, Dorian hacked out another cough and groaned, again feeling soothing hands on him, rubbing his back and running their fingers through his hair. “Ugh…How--?”

His words were cut off by another series of coughs. “Kost, kadan. Breathe.”

Bull’s voice cut through the fog still filling his mind like a beacon of light and Dorian blindly reached out a hand only to have it captured in a familiar large one, rough with callouses. “Hnn…Hurts…! Everything hurts!”

“I know, kadan.” There was something wrong with Bull’s voice, but he couldn’t think straight enough to place it. “Breathe through it. We’re all here for you.”

We? Blinking his eyes open again, Dorian turned his head and realized that there was indeed more than one person around him. Bull was there, of course, but other shapes moved around him and quickly came in to focus. Evelyn, Cullen, Vivienne, Cole.

The tingling sensations that were skittering across his skin began to fade but Dorian hissed when he realized that there was a pain on his back and shoulder that was only sharpening. “Ah, Bull--!”

Bull’s voice tightened at his pained gasp, his fingers tightening around his hand. “What is it?”

Hissing, Dorian arched his back to try and rid himself of the pain but it only grew worse. “My shoulder—! I, help me turn over.” He didn’t have the strength to do it by himself.

Bull rolled him over with gentle hands and, when the cause of his pain wasn’t immediately obvious, Cullen helped Bull pull his shirt off enough for them to see. “Shit,” Bull growled, “there’s blood.”

He heard Evelyn gasp in horror and Dorian frowned, trying to think through the sting of pain. “What is it?”

“I can’t tell.”

Dorian’s frown deepened, his hand clutching at the edge of his bed. “Vivienne?” Surely she would be able to recognize it.

Her touch was cool as she leaned in and traced her fingers around the pained area. “A complicated glyph, but incomplete. It appears to have been carved into your skin but should have no effect on you once the pain dissipates.”

“How did it get there?”

Venhedis…“My father…”

Evelyn’s voice rose in anger but he could tell that she didn’t understand. “Your father?”

Dorian groaned against the soft fabric beneath him. He was safe and sound, finally, and he really didn’t want to delve back into everything, especially when there was nothing to be done about. At least not immediately. “I’ll explain…later. I’m frankly rather exhausted at the moment…” Evelyn made a strange sound and Dorian squinted up at her. “What is it?”

“It’s just, from our end it seems as if you only just woke up and you’ve been, well, dead, for so long.”

A chill settled in his chest and he felt Bull’s grip tighten as he gingerly rolled him onto his side. “…How long was I unconscious for?”

Behind Evelyn, Cullen smiled down at him, though there was a pinch in his brow. “Six weeks, just about.”

“Six, six weeks? Well…” He squeezed Bull’s hand and didn’t notice as behind him Evelyn motioned for the others to file out of the room.

“That’s a long time to be dead, kadan.”

“It’s a long time to watch someone die...Lie down with me, amatus.”

Bull did so without complaint, curling up behind Dorian on what proved to be the large chaise from Vivienne’s lounge of all things, Maker bless her. Dorian moved Bull’s hand so that it was pressed flat against his chest. He was so warm and his sturdy weight steadied him like an anchor. And he knew like this Bull would be able to feel his breath and his heartbeat and he didn’t trust anyone more to make sure both kept up as he drifted off to sleep.