This job was going to be the death of him. He was certain of it. Adan had been patching the boy up since day one and quite frankly, he was getting tired of it. And somehow, Maker knows, the Inquisitor managed to show up at his door in worse condition than before. A magnet for disaster, that's what he was. With no end in sight. Adan wiped the sweat from his brow and resumed the brewing of necessary tonics. Again. At this rate, he may as well say good bye to sleep. Or maybe, just maybe, while no one was looking, leap off the edge into blissful oblivion. At least the smith had ceased his hammering. He'll take small victories where he can.
"Is it ready yet?" Keya asked behind him, making Adan nearly jump out of his skin. He had completely forgotten about the elf girl. It didn't help that she was quiet as a mouse, sitting in a dark corner.
"It'll be ready when it's ready." he grumbled, waving his hand dismissively in her direction without turning to face her. The process was a delicate one, especially when it came to lyrium. He heard enough horror stories to keep caution. "Shouldn't you be elsewhere?"
"Ms. Kahlee requested that I wait here. She's with the Inquisitor now."
Adan grunted in response. He saw the Inquisitor's injuries. It's a wonder he was still alive. He wasn't going to be the one to break the bad news to him, though. Leave that to the professionals. His job was to make sure the lab did not explode and he was going to do just that. He flipped the hourglass over and turned the flame under the embrium extract off. A few more minutes and he'll be able to combine it with the amrita vein paste. While the embrium extract cooled, he ground up the arbor blessing seeds to a fine powder and mixed it into the paste. At least the scent was pleasant. As the last grain of sand fell to the bottom, Adan combined all the ingredients and poured the viscous contents into a small jar. "There. Now, leave." he shoved the jar into the girl's hands and returned to his table. The easy part was over.
The contents felt warm in Keya's hands and she could smell the flowery aroma with a hint of mint. Overlooking his demeanor, she had to admit that Adan had impressive skill when it came to herbalism. She carefully placed the jar in the small pouch on her waist and, without further disturbing the alchemist, slipped out. Thankfully, the main hall was quiet as everyone had gone to sleep. Keya picked up the lantern by the door and made her way back to the Inquisitor's quarters.
When she returned, Kahlee was in the process of removing the bandages, revealing the angry red scarring tissue underneath. It had been over a month since the Inquisitor returned and only now, looking at him in the candlelight did Keya notice his eyes. They looked hollow, almost cold. Maybe it was just the trick of the light. He never seemed to sleep. Sometimes, when she came by to bring food or water, she'd catch him staring out the window, holding on to a small wooden halla. When he saw her, he always hid it. She tried asking him about it, but he never said anything. Though she had her suspicions. Keya was no stranger to tragedy.
"Here is the poultice you requested, ma'am." she said, handing the small jar to Kahlee who took it without saying anything. Keya could tell she was tired, too. With the Inquisitor refusing help from anyone else, the work fell solely to her. She tried to help as much as she could and she liked to think it was making some difference. But looking at the Inquisitor, bruised, broken, and barely alive made her realize otherwise. No amount of healing poultices could fix what was broken inside.
When nothing else worked, the one person Dorian could always count on was the tavern's bartender. He had spent hours trying to read a book before realizing he wasn't getting past the first page. First sentence, really. He even tried goading Mother Gisele into an argument. The legitimacy of the Chantry always seemed to ruffle the old hen's feathers. Especially when the Black Divine came into play. But not even that could keep his mind from turning on itself. Tossing the book aside, Dorian rolled out of the chair and stretched. The alcove of useless books. He should probably speak to someone about that. Or maybe just take over as the librarian. Saving Thedas one leather bound tome at a time. At least with books one always knew what to expect. Books and taverns.
The Herald's Rest was boisterous again and Cabot was in his usual apathetic mood, which suited Dorian just fine. He slipped effortlessly past the drunk soldiers and sat at the bar. Though he hadn't even managed to get a word out before he felt a small hand on his back.
"Drinks and insults, yeah?" Sera giggled as she planted herself beside him. Dorian gave her a sideways glance but did not protest.
"Are we celebrating?" he asked, flagging Cabot down. Sera was clearly a few drinks ahead of him and he wasn't one to fall behind. Let it never be said that an elf girl outdrank a Tevinter. Particularly this Tevinter. Without missing a beat, Cabot filled a pitcher and placed it unceremoniously in front of Dorian.
"What? I need a reason?"
"True enough." Dorian conceded. "Cheers." He raised the cup to Sera and took a sip. It was awful, bitter, and burned as it went down his throat. "I think the bartender is slowly trying to kill everyone." he commented after the burning had subsided.
"I know!" Sera laughed. "It's shite, innit? Gimme some."
Drinking with Sera was easy and the conversation came naturally. And the more they drank, the more ridiculous the conversations got. It was exactly what he needed. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he felt okay. Undoubtedly, the alcohol helped, but that was the point. However, as in all good things, it had to come to an end. As Sera disappeared up the stairs followed by a string of profanities, Dorian was left on his own. Sufficiently inebriated, he decided to turn in for the night, as well. Though try as he might, nothing brought him sleep. Of all the things, his mind wandered to thoughts of his father. The last conversation they had was unexpected, to say the least. If it were up to him, it would have never happened to begin with. But as it were, Lavellan dragged him out to Redcliffe and… surprised him. No one had ever gone to such lengths for him without expecting something in return. That day his relationship with his father was not the only thing that changed. The entire ordeal had put the Inquisitor in a whole new light. If anything, Lavellan made for an excellent friend. He would never admit it to anyone, but Dorian was glad for the chance to somewhat reconcile with his father.
Thinking of family brought on a sobering realization. He had recently overheard a rumor that an elven clan was slaughtered in some city. There were no names and as terrible as it was, Dorian did not think much of it. Until now. He remembered the conversation he had with Lavellan about his family and their move to Wycome and the uncanny timing of everything that preceded the rumor.
It couldn't be… The thought of it being true...
But it all made sense. Lavellan's behavior at Hissing Wastes, his sudden departure, and his disappearance. The timing. It couldn't have been a coincidence.
How did he not see this before?
Cole knew. Dorian assumed he was talking about the physical pain. But this was what he must have meant when he said the Inquisitor was hurting. How could he have been so blind? The realization was staggering and it left Dorian paralyzed. For the first time in his life he didn't know what to do.