He stared out across the surrounding area of Skyhold. They were late. A week late. Dorian was worried. He sighed heavily, a gnawing pit in his stomach getting deeper. He shivered in the cold, but decided to watch for just a moment longer. What if Fay was injured? What if he was dead? Dorian was nearly sick at the thought. Just a moment longer. He rested his hand on the fortress wall, staring out, praying to whoever would listen that he would see the horses appear on the horizon. But they didn't and the day ticked by, the sun edging further down the sky. He had spent days this way, and every time, he left the wall with his heart in his mouth. He heard delicate footsteps behind him. Heel, toe, heel, toe. A woman. Not just any woman, but Josephine Montilyet. Dorian glanced towards her. Her delicate little steps stopped just beside him.
"I see I'm not the only one worried about the Lord Inquisitor." Her delicate voice intruded on Dorian's silent panic. He felt slightly irked by her presence. He was used to being alone, especially in times of trial. Why did she have to care?
"I'm certain he's well. He's grown. He can take care of himself." Dorian shared a look with Josephine and it was clear that neither of them really believed a word he had said.
"Dorian, you've been out here for days. I assure you, I can have someone inform you the second he returns. But please, I must insist that you retire this effort. You're going to exhaust yourself." Josephine put her small hand on Dorian's shoulder. He sighed deeply and looked down at the short Antivan lady.
"I know, I know. You're right. A watched cauldron never bubbles and all that rubbish." He rolled his eyes and sighed deeply yet again. He was starting to feel the exhaustion setting in. Maybe he should go inside.
"How are you…?" Josephine asked tentatively. Dorian suppressed a groan. He had a sneaking suspicion that word of that… event… had spread. Even if it was only known among a select few, he was certain that the wily Josephine would know.
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Dorian said, trying his best to sound haughty. Josephine wasn't the type of lady to roll her eyes, but Dorian knew she was thinking about it.
"I heard about what happened. I just… I wanted to know if you were okay."
It had been a month and a half since the events at Halamshiral. Dorian had mentioned to nobody that the Inquisitor had kissed him at the Winter Palace. Dorian sighed heavily again. He hadn't quite decided how to feel. Being left behind in Skyhold wasn't sitting particularly well with him.
"It is of no concern, Lady Montilyet. His tone was so upbeat and non-chalant he almost convinced himself. Josephine didn't believe him one bit, but she had the grace to leave it be. She smiled sadly at him and patted him on the shoulder before leaving him be. Dorian looked once more at the setting sun. There was no movement on the horizon.
There was a distant scream in the night. Dorian sat up immediately, his heart racing. He must have been hearing things. There were always strange noises in this drafty castle. That was all it had been. A wooden beam settling. Dorian calmed when he didn't hear it again. He settled back down and pulled the blankets up close around his chin and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth and softness of the material. Everything was fine.
But then he heard it again.
A strong pair of lungs bellowing out in agony. He was gripped with terrible fear. His mind instantly jumped to the worst possible conclusion. Had Fay returned? He tore himself from bed and threw a cloak around himself, grabbing his staff on the way out the door.
Dorian sprinted through the halls of the castle, his bare feet smacking loudly against the cold stone floor. He hated exercise as much as the next person, but he had to know. He hit the entrance hall with thudding footsteps, and heard a roar of agony again.
"NAJA!" the male voice screamed. Dorian was already panting from the effort of running. But his breath caught here. That was Fay's voice. He knew it. He knew something bad had happened. He bolted down the steps to the yard where the infirmary tents were kept. Patients who had once slept soundly were now awake, murmuring to each other in a quiet hush. He saw torches flickering, casting monstrous shadows against the battlement walls, and a large group gathered around a body writhing on the ground. He skidded to a halt and an elf woman with short golden blonde hair glanced up at him. She had the same green eyes as Fay.
"Myrn! Sister! Where is Naja? Is she safe? Where is she?!" The blonde elf knelt next to Fay and smoothed back his hair. He was feverish, his eyes rolling wildly in his head. Delirious.
"Little wolf, be still. She is safe. Everyone got away. The clan is safe." She had that same rich accented voice, that same lilt to her tone. That same strength. The elf woman, Myrn, looked up at Dorian again. "Help me." she begged, quietly. Dorian swallowed back his horror and pushed a silent Varric out of the way. If Varric had nothing to say, the case could only be truly hopeless. Dorian knelt next to the large elf laying a hand on his forehead. Then he saw the cause of all this strife. A large, wickedly sharp shard of steel piercing his shoulder. Corruption sprawled outward from the wound. A smell of decay wafted up Dorian's nose. And something bitter. Some poison. A taint of the blood. Panic gripped Dorian's stomach. He set his staff down, and methodically examined the wound.
"I'm going to help you, Fay. I promise." He was going to lose him. He was going to die.
Dorian set about probing his magic into the wound, into his blood. Assessing, discovering, considering. This would need more work than he could give alone.
"Somebody summon Solas." he said quietly. They all stood in shock, staring at their Inquisitor, dying on the hard cobbled ground. He looked up for but a moment. "Get Solas!" he said, louder now. More urgent. Cassandra ran. She could run a lot faster than him.
Myrn knelt next to Dorian, a terrible calm in her bearing.
"He's been poisoned. Do you have an apothecary?" Dorian could feel the way Fay's body struggled against his magic. He couldn't fight against the current of death in him.
"You heard the woman." Dorian snapped. Another pair of boots hurried into the distance. Myrn was exhausted. Dorian could tell that much. She had magic. He knew that much. And she was probably to thank for keeping him alive this long. She was about to drop from exhaustion, but she took a breath, then placed her hands over her brother holding back the deluge of death in Fay's blood with Dorian.
"Dorian!" Fay mumbled, his voice frail now.
"I'm here. Don't you die on me! You son of a... Don't you die on me!" There were tears of panic in Dorian's eyes. Fay's green eyes suddenly locked on Dorian's, a look of coherency that had been absent until now.
"Help me! I must save them! My people are in danger!" The elf grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip. Dorian paused for a moment. He couldn't think of a word to say. Nut he stared into the man's eyes until pain overtook him again, and he cried out in agony. Dorian redoubled his effort.