TITLE: Mighty Stranger
CHAPTER: Two, ...he remained
"If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger." ―Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights
The Inquisitor
An icy wind keens over the dark stones of Skyhold, howling its mournful song through the halls and corridors. By afternoon, a weak spring sun manages to melt the ice, shifting the stones until they creak in protest. With each passing day, the warmth and sunlight lose their grip on the gardens and paths. The castle walls shine with rimmed ice as the magic spell over Skyhold slips away and the ancient walls knell the sound of approaching death.
Where once they fluttered and snapped the banners lay slack against their oak staffs. The guards and soldiers move quietly speaking in respectful tones. Weapons lay waiting in the undercroft next to the rusting and forgotten armor. Andraste's chapel overflows with prayers, and I'm told the sound of it is pitiful as it echoes against the ancient walls.
Does a man count the years of his life by decades? Or the months and days, which seem to pass in an instant? So quickly, in fact, that one turns and asks, what happened to the time we promised each other? What happened to those endless nights of passion when the specter of death finally moved on? Perhaps it's better counted by the emotions of hope, despair, happiness, and loss? Or as chapters in one of Varric's novels. I have no answers as I shift in my narrow bed to gain a better view of the courtyard. Several pairs of hands quickly reach to assist me. I wish they wouldn't, but it does little good to try to stop them. They speak in hushed tones and handle me with gentle reverence as if I were still The Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, and their Lord.
Although I still reside in the castle fortress of Skyhold, those titles are meaningless now. We are at peace, and I lay here fading away from the world I helped save. There's nothing left for me here, and I often dream Andraste reaches for my hand again as she did so many months ago or has it been years? No, I reminded myself—my memories are not what they used to be—it wasn't Andraste, but Justinia. And I wasn't even their first choice for Inquisitor. Nothing more than a rash decision and a thoughtless reaction on my part embedded the Anchor in my hand. At that moment, standing in the stinking Fade I realized I was still nothing more than the youngest son of a minor noble house from the backwater of the Free Marches.
The pillows behind my back, placed by insistent human hands sit me up and now I can see the roses. Their scent drifts to me, and I inhale their sweet perfume. The garden is lifeless now; only the sturdy roses hang on as the temperature lowers a little more each day. Although my sight fades along with the withering garden and my hearing often rely on echoes of the words of others, the sense of smell is still strong within me.
Months ago, before the illness and my stupidity took my strength, my spacious quarters gazed out over the mountains. A room full of comfortable furniture, breathtaking views, and a man named Dorian. The beauty of his naked form and crooked smile still haunt that place. To escape the ghosts and heartbreak I moved to a quiet chamber where I can look out over the garden I helped to cultivate. The empty mountain pass below the stone balcony and the icy air remind me of what already there in the lonely void of my soul.
The words, his words, I hope this ends soon, still echo off the mountains. The presence of his strong arms around my waist. The words and his breath on my neck represented the promise of a future. I loved him, and I'd never loved before. I slept with a man, naked and unafraid in his arms, our bodies entwined, breathless, and sated. I still feel his hands seeking out the places where he soothed a brow, calmed a troubled soul and took me to heights of passion I'd never known. And the things we had done! Wild, - I still blush with the memories - ardent sex. Where he encouraged me with teasing kisses, tender laughter, and proprietary hands. Until he'd finally gentled me and taught this virginal and pious man to fly.
I'd been pushed… No. Let's finally be honest, I was not pushed at all, but trapped by circumstances into the role of a savior and warrior I never imagined or sought. The mage's presence became my anchor and my solace for the long terrible days of fighting endless battles across an equally endless landscape. A once beautiful and peaceful land ripped apart by demons, blood, and violence.
I had done some good, hadn't I?
The sweat and chill of the fever took me down, and I let my head drop back to the pillows. The tops of the roses are all that's visible to me now, and they bow to me in the slight breeze to help me think of life and renewal. Although the healers no longer speak in such positive terms, at least I can watch for the change of season and listen to the bustle of life, of which I am no longer a part. The sounds of children playing represent a new generation growing up in a land of peace and prosperity. Peace, which will hold because the treaties we brokered were stable and fair.
How many marriages had I officiated since we defeated Corypheus? I've lost count, to be sure. Indeed, if I have any faculty left to me, and I haven't forgotten, it's only Cassandra and me who remain unattached. Cassandra because she is The Divine and me because I am dying. What had Dorian called me once? Oh yes, he said I was rather strapping. And I had been, once. Endless hours of sparring, days of walking, climbing and wielding a staff and sword shaped and fortified my resolve and physical strength.
Today, with my youth, and strength stripped from me, weakness drops me helpless to the bed again, and I turn my gaze to the familiar forms of the stone arches high above my head. When we first arrived at Skyhold, the fortress stood tumbled and neglected. Barely enough left of her to call a shelter. She stands proudly against the snow-covered Frostback Mountains, a beacon of learning, pilgrimage and peace. But the warmth and healing yellow light is fading now as if the magic of this place wanders away on the currents of the snow and wind.
Against the rimmed stone above my head, the dark-haired vision of Dorian unexpectedly appears, and he's smiling. Is that smile for me, my lost love? Do you remember me at all or are you so entrenched in the politics of your beloved Tevinter you no longer think of me? I've never forgotten your words, said in the midst of assuring me that leaving my side would bring you no pleasure, but to help his homeland he would do anything.
In the blush of new love, I'd dismissed it. Even offered to go with him and he turned me down flat. I should have known then. But how was I to compare that to the afternoon he captured me outside my quarters and took me inside to whisper such beautiful things to me while bringing me to such intense pleasure I nearly wept. Later, after we washed and dressed, he'd looked at me fiercely and said, you're terribly dull, and I hate you. Nearly overcome with the events of the day and our victories I turned away from him to escape to the balcony. "What's the second?" I asked him, my heart so full it fluttered in my throat. Then he took my waist possessively and tickled my ear with his breath, he murmured…I hope this ends soon.
We stood there quietly, watching the afternoon slip away and basking in the warm sun shining down on us. When I'd worked up my courage because you must understand I'd never said these words to anyone. I turned in his arms and let him push me against the stone railing. Against my neck he breathed, Amatus.
I couldn't breathe, my chest tightened, and my hands wouldn't obey. The look in his eyes! Vulnerable and yet trusting. Loving and yet wary. No, through time and fighting side by side we'd learned to trust and relax together. And this beautiful man loved me. Hadn't he just stated as much? This castle, my garish armor that did more to show off my physical attributes than protect me, and the charade of my role as the Inquisitor or Herald of Andraste. All that suddenly paled in the warmth and security of Dorian's embrace. He was still here, and he was real. I cupped his face with my hands and brushed my lips across the unusual presence of coarse stubble on his cheek. "I love you, Dorian." I met his dark wide-eyed stare. "I give my heart into your keeping."
His reaction, and I had no idea what it might be, was to curl his fists into the leather of my jacket and bury his face against me. Magic sparkled from his hands and covered me like a warm balm across my skin. My skin? My skin heated under his hands so that I squirmed to be free of their constraints of my clothes. The complicated knot of the sash at my waist came undone and for a moment floated until caught by the currents and set sail by the wind. The chest plate and the jacket landed at my feet with a clatter. My linen shirt responded to the force of his reaction by tearing until I was bare to the waist.
What followed taught me what it meant to love a man like Dorian Pavus. He opened our clothes and released us to the frosty breeze. Then he took us both in hand, spreading his long aristocratic fingers around us, stroking the tight skin and pulsing muscles until I shuddered helplessly against the stone balustrade. I didn't feel the cold only Dorian's hand and the heated magic as he stroked us to mindlessness. My knees weakened, and my breath panted against his cheek. After snaking an arm around my back, he sought my mouth and ground his mouth against my lips.
The slick feel of our flesh rubbing together created a friction that quickly overcame us both. He bit my lower lip and growled, his voice flooded with passion his eye blazing like a bonfire against a night sky.
Into my mouth he breathed, I love you, I love you, I love you…
Then he lost control in a way I hadn't seen before. I think his words may have scared him. I believe it was fear I saw in his eyes as our bodies gave in to the demanding torture of the burning friction that ignited the passion growing since that first day we met in Redcliffe. We moved together, pushing, panting out this need of ours. Out of control, couldn't be sure my feet touched the ground. Holding myself upright with my hands fisted into the complicated leather buckles of his clothes. We fell together when the frisson of passion took the sight from our eyes and looped across our body's until they arched together to erupt into Dorian's hands and covered us both in our sweet sticky lust.
Tears dripped down my face soaking the pillow. I tried to hold onto the memories, the vision of him smiling at me. Then it faded, and he's still gone, still beyond my reach and perhaps he always was.
I wonder where this goes, you and I?
What happens after? Ah, yes, after. What happens after? Dreadful thing, after. Hot tears burn on my sunken cheeks. The flesh as cold as if I were already dead. As if he were my source of life and without him I began to fade. Regret tortures me and swirls in my weakened mind taking me back to Redcliff where it all begun. A dark wind blows through the courtyard sweeping the dead leaves and petals into untidy piles as my garden dies. I shivered.
Memories of his lithe body swirl across my mind. To have only memories of him is unbearable, yet much worse if they left me. Dorian! I miss you! Watching him move across the room like a feline predator, or a dancer stepping gracefully, wielding his mage's staff as if it were a dance partner. His magic floating in the air, first as a miasma then came the smashing blow knocking the demons back into the Fade. I stood transfixed by the sight unable to move or react. We'd come to Redcliff to meet a man named Felix. This man's name was not Felix; it couldn't be. Horrific events were afoot, but all I could focus on was the man. All I wanted to know was his name.
"Who are you?" I remember blurting after we closed the small Rift. The quiet grew between us as I watched him take my measure. He noticed the staff on my back. Yes, I am a mage as well. My thoughtless words lit a thread of heat, which branded my chest and neck. I hated my fair skin with its tendency to color at the slightest provocation. Always a torment to me, my Father hadn't helped when he said many times that real men never blushed. The question also ignited something inside me, a deep yearning to reach out toward this handsome, confident man. Behind me, the Iron Bull murmured a warning. I don't even remember what he said. I do remember how Dorian laughed at Bull's comment. And what a laugh, deep and rich. So intoxicating in its timber and tone I felt like laughing too. Then the beautiful stranger smiled into my eyes, "Dorian of House Pavus. Lately of Minrathous."
And so it began. Weeks of flirting and using any excuse to walk through the library to chat with him or seek his council. Would he be there, safe in his corner, pouring over the books as usual? If he wasn't, I felt let down like a disappointed child. Hardly fitting behavior for the Herald of Andraste.
We shared one kiss and a quick embrace. I wanted more and I think he did too, but the fighting and the endless meetings at the War Table kept us apart. I think it truly began our first night in the Hissing Wastes. Hot and humid, the stink of sulfur and the sweetish smell of rotting flesh permeated everything. We made camp that night in the center of a swamp, within sight of a looming broken-down castle. Why anyone would want to live out here was beyond any of our understanding.
As night drew in, the flickering lights and the thickening smell drove even the guards into the safety of their tents. When Bull and Varric disappeared into one tent to play cards, Dorian and I entered the other. I pitied the lone guard out there while I lit a lantern.
Behind me, I heard Dorian swear.
"Fasta vass!" He snapped, and I laughed wondering what his complaint-the-day might be. Until I turned and saw the muscular chest exposed by his attempt to remove his shirt. The incredible humidity made it nearly impossible for him to peel the leather away from his sticky, grimy skin. All he'd managed to do was bury his head and tangle his arms.
"Need some help?" I ventured. Trying to keep the laughter out of my voice. It was a comical sight.
His muffled voice, "A little help here. Yes?"
I couldn't resist teasing him. "This seems more than I can handle perhaps it would be wiser to call Bull in to assist you."
Magic flared from his body but did nothing to loosen the wet leather from his skin. He inhaled sharply, probably about to swear again. I went to him and placed my bare hands on his firm waist. The muscles clenched as he hissed in response.
My hands moved over his muscled frame over his ribs and chest. What if I rested my head there, right there on that hollow spot between his chest and shoulder. The ribs expanded as his breathing quickened. The buckles of his complicated shirt obeyed my fingers until I freed his arms.
The night sounds blanketed us while the glow of the lantern shaded skin into hues of golden honey. Would it taste as sweet? He stayed perfectly still as I lifted the shirt over his head. Then he grabbed it from my hands and tossed it into the corner. I swayed toward him, needing the connection, yearning for this strength. He caught my hands against his chest.
"Put your hands on me," he said his breath caressing my face in harsh pants letting me know he needed this connection as much as I. "Let me feel your magic."