A/N: I'm not entirely sure where this chapter came from. Honestly. But oh well. Angst galore, here, my friends. Enjoy?

Chapter length: 4001

Onward!


Chapter Forty-Eight: On Deaf Ears

Dorian despised paralysis glyphs. They left a nasty taste in his mouth, left his fingers and toes tingling, and gave him such a headache from the strain of trying to move. His body refused to do so, however. He was helpless as the seconds turned into minutes and the Venatori agents surrounded him. If only he could flick his wrist – the magic was there, but he could not release it

He was helpless, and he loathed feeling helpless.

"Get a collar on him before that glyph wears off," one of the Venatori said, and ice hit Dorian's veins as a snarl lodged in his throat, very uncouth of him but he didn't care.

A collar, truly? A mage collar? He'd heard of such things but had never seen them in Tevinter. But now as a Venatori agent moved toward him with a collar he strained against the paralysis, grunting as he struggled. Surely it would be wearing off any second now. Any second now, he could get free, and-

The collar snapped into place around his neck, locking closed with an ominous click. Instantly he felt drained, his connection to the Fade severed. The glyph wore off then, as though mocking him. He collapsed to his knees, feeling drained and pathetic, grip trembling on his staff as he summoned a spell which didn't arrive. He had no magic, not so long as this blighted collar remained on his neck, and he didn't have the key for the lock. It was strict and confining and if he was being honest, a little too tight, making a little hard to breathe.

His staff was stolen from his fingers, robbing him of any safety he might have had. Now he was truly helpless, and he hated it.

"Are you certain this is an agent of the Inquisition?" a Venatori asked, scoffing. "I see nothing to fear, if that is the case."

That was… apt. He'd been stumbling along, looking for Callum, and his guard had been down, yes, but that was… rather rude, for them to call him nothing to fear. He was a necromancer, after all – he used fear as a weapon. If he had his magic right now…

If he had his magic right now. But he didn't. He couldn't access it because of this blighted collar. He'd let himself be collared so easily. They were right – he was pathetic.

He'd let his guard down and had let it come to this.

"Nothing to say for yourself, Inquisition? A pity. I would have hoped you lot would have had more fight in you, but I suppose we'll take the easy win."

Easy win? Dorian was not an easy win.

As hands grabbed at him he struggled. He shoved the two people away, pushing to his feet on his own. He turned to run – he'd find some way to get this collar off, Bull could break it or Callum could hopefully pick the lock, as a rogue – but was stopped as he was rammed into from behind, tackled to the ground. He hit the dirt hard, inhaling a mouthful of it, before he coughed and attempted to roll over and scramble back to his feet. He was pinned, however, and hit over the head for his efforts. As his vision swam, pain ringing in his ears, he felt his arms grabbed and yanked behind his back. Thick, coarse rope bound his wrists quickly, scratching against his skin.

Kaffas, what have you gotten yourself into?

His situation was just getting worse and worse, and where was Callum?

The others would start looking for them soon, he knew, but that did little to calm his racing heart as he was yanked back to his feet by a rough grip on his arm. They might already be out looking. How long had he been searching for Callum before this? He couldn't remember.

He was then dragged away, weakened as he was, head aching and wrists chaffing. The collar around his neck hindered his breathing somewhat, and left him feeling drained. He hated it more than anything – the loss of his magic. He'd never felt so useless.

The further they walked, he couldn't help but look back at their fading foot trail. The wind was picking up, hiding the evidence – how would anyone be able to follow him, and find him, now? He'd have to escape on his own, but without access to his magic he wasn't quite sure what to do. He'd never trained with anything else. Perhaps Callum would let him practice with his daggers after this, if he ever got out of this. He couldn't always rely on his magic.

In Tevinter, he never had to worry about this. In the south things were much different. You either had to hide your magic from the Templars and become an apostate or be locked up in a tower. He trained in a tower, in several of them, yes, but he wasn't locked up in them. He could come and go as he pleased – it was merely where he received his training. Not so here. And now these collars, and the Rite of Tranquility… he could not rely solely on his magic here. He wished he'd thought of this sooner, but he'd always been confident in his abilities. Until now.

Until he was helpless without his magic.

Something brushed against his back, briefly but there. He stiffened and turned his head over his shoulder, glancing behind him, but he saw nothing. Frowning, he chewed on his lower lip as he was pushed forward roughly, for hesitating. Two Venatori still had a grip on his arm, one of them not a mage while the other was one, and of the two leading the way, one was a mage and the other was an archer, bow held carelessly in their grasp as they didn't expect any trouble, not with their prisoner. Perhaps they assumed they could use him as leverage. He scowled at the thought.

He wasn't entirely certain what happened in the next few seconds, as it happened too quickly.

Another brush against his back.

Then the ropes binding his hands were cut.

A dagger sank into the back of the warrior on his left, barely piercing the thick armor, while its twin sank into the back of the mage who struggled to get a barrier up in time. He didn't manage to do so, and he went down with a cry, releasing his hold on Dorian's right arm. Dorian shoved at the warrior, unable to think with everything happening so quickly, and staggered away from his captors, looking around quickly because there was only one person who could be helping him like this.

Callum yanked his dagger free of the mage's back, eliciting yet another cry from the downed mage. He quickly slit the mage's throat, twirled both daggers in his grip, and got back to his feet as the other three Venatori surrounded them. Dorian's hands were freed, but he still didn't have access to his magic, nor did he have his staff. Nevertheless he picked up the fallen mage's staff – he could at least utilize the staff blade, hopefully, or use it as a melee weapon, though his reflexes were not as sharp as Callum's.

"Where have you been?" he hissed at the rogue through clenched teeth.

"Following you for the past few minutes," Callum snapped back, glaring at him. "Why did you come looking for me? I said I was fine!"

Dorian opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off as an ice spell was flung his way. He jumped back and hit the ground gracelessly, looking quite undignified. Quickly, he hurried back to his feet. "I am useless with this collar on," he informed Callum.

"Yeah, yeah, I can't work on it right now," Callum said, raising his daggers to meet the incoming swip of the warrior Venatori's greatsword. He wavered under the heavy blow, and then ducked, pushing the blade away and using the man's own momentum against him, causing the blade to sink into the sandy ground momentarily. In that moment Callum quickly moved behind him, slashing at him with both of his daggers.

An ice spell slammed into Callum's back, leaving him staggering to his knees, shivering violently. The warrior loomed over him, raising his sword.

No. Dorian's mind blanked.

He lunged forward, charging with his staff blade ready as he released a shout, catching the warrior off guard. The warrior hesitated, turning slightly to face Dorian, and the staff blade imbedded itself in the warrior's side as he turned. Callum rolled out of the way of the warrior, slipping into the shadows, disappearing from view, but Dorian knew he was not alone.

An arrow whizzed past his face as he quickly moved back, aware that standing in one place too long was harmful. The warrior was wounded but not out, and Dorian yanked the staff blade out of his side. The armor the warrior wore was thick and sturdy; breaking through it was tough. Callum wounded him with the backstab, but unlike with the mage it hadn't been a killing blow.

More arrows whizzed past his face as he quickly kept moving. The collar made it hard to breathe, and all this movement was leaving him somewhat breathless. He was tired, fatigue heavily weighing on him, but he kept moving because if he stopped it would be the end. The warrior swung his sword at Dorian. In an act of pure instinct he brought the staff up to block it. The blade cleaved the staff in two, but thankfully it did not cleave Dorian in two. He staggered back from the impact nevertheless, holding two separate halves of the staff now, nearly toppling over his own feet in his haste to get away.

He heard a dying choke, but couldn't risk glancing over to see who had fallen. It hadn't been Callum's voice, that was all that mattered.

The warrior swung at him again. Dorian scrambled backward, nearly tripping over his feet once more, careful to keep his eyes focused on the blade. If he didn't he would surely die, and Dorian Pavus would not fall to the likes of the Venatori. He would not.

An arrow shot past his eyes. Had he not moved as he did, he surely would have been shot right through the head, which was a troublesome thought. No more spells were being flung from the Venatori mage, though – perhaps that was who released that dying sound earlier.

"Dorian! Here!"

He took his eyes off the warrior for only a second, just to see Callum tossing his dagger at him, easily balanced so the grip would come at him first. Dorian dropped the broken pieces of the staff and caught the dagger just as the warrior swiped at him again. The sound of metal on metal rang in his ears, a sharp biting sound which left his ears ringing momentarily.

He shoved the dagger against the blade, the feel of it strange in his hands. As he pushed away from the warrior, scrambling backward once again, this time he did trip. He tripped over his own feet in his haste to dodge another swipe from the massive sword, and landed gracelessly on his bottom, his tailbone connecting harshly with a small rock on the ground. At this disadvantageous angle he could only look up as the warrior loomed over him, bringing the sword forward to stab him through the chest. He brought the dagger up even as he closed his eyes, but he had little hope it would connect, as it was not his forte.

But the strike never came.

He opened his eyes warily, and found the blade stained red but stopped just in front of him. Callum de-cloaked with a choked gasp, as the sword was pulled from his gut, and all Dorian could do was stare as he sank to his knees.

No. No, no, no!

"Amatus-" he choked, scrambling forward, reaching for him with trembling hands. "Amatus, look at me-"

Callum choked around words and breath, mouth open in a silent gasp as he reached for Dorian with pale hands. Already so pale.

No, no-

The key twisted in the lock, and the collar fell from his neck. Instantly he felt the magic flowing through him again, as Callum's hands fell back down, and he collapsed further on the ground. Dorian was torn between catching him and destroying their enemies in revenge.

The warrior spared him the choice, lunging at them both.

Dorian's gaze flickered away from the downed rogue and he snarled as he raised his hand, flinging spell after spell at the warrior. He couldn't say what spells he used – he couldn't remember what words his mouth twisted around, what magic he summoned, all he knew was he wanted the warrior to hurt, to bleed, to pay for what he did.

Doing magic without a staff wasn't impossible, though it was much easier and less draining with a staff. He was already exhausted, and soon had to stop flinging spells.

The warrior was dead after the second spell – he needn't keep going, but he had. He had.

Now he stared at the downed enemy, that bloodied sword dropped harmlessly at their side. He looked around, but all of their enemies were dead. Callum must have taken out the archer as well, before he-… before he…

He sucked in a ragged breath and turned back toward the rogue. Callum's lips were turning blue, and his face was too pale, not to mention there was a pool of blood around him from his stomach wound. Dorian's trembling hands pressed down on the wound as a weak, "Amatus?" left his lips.

Callum's eyelids twitched, but didn't open. His breaths were these ragged, trembling things, as though breathing took more energy than he had. Dorian pressed down harder on the wound, attempting to heal it as best he could, but he was no healer. He knew so little of healing magic. He swore, if they made it through this, when they got back to Skyhold, he would learn all he could in the art of healing. He would. He would.

Just let him live. Let him live.

"Amatus, look at me," he said, attempting to keep his voice stern and focused. When it didn't get any further results other than more twitching of the eyelids, his resolve broke a little. "Callum – look at me."

The rogue's eyes opened, but only just, revealing dark green slits. So dark. "D-Dorian…"

"You are not allowed to leave me, do you understand?" Dorian said, pressing down harder on the wound, desperation clawing at him. He couldn't heal this. It was too much. He couldn't fix this, and he had no idea where they were, or how far away camp was, or – or anything. "You're not allowed," he said again, blinking back the wetness in his eyes. "I forbid it."

"D… Dori…"

Fingers scraped against the dirt, reaching for him. How could he deny him this?

He couldn't.

He removed one hand, and clutched at the rogue's cold fingers, attempting to force warmth back to them.

"You are not allowed to die," Dorian said again, breaths shaky as a sob lodged in his throat. He couldn't fix this. He couldn't fix this. Maker, he couldn't fix this. "Do you hear me, Callum? You are not allowed."

" 'm… 'm s-orry…"

The rogue's voice was this raw, scratchy thing Dorian hated hearing.

"You stupid, foolish, reckless rogue," he muttered, swallowing thickly. "Why would you do that? Why would you take the hit for me?"

" 'cause I…" Callum broke off into a coughing fit, blood specking his lips. He never quite regained his breath afterward, but kept speaking nevertheless. " 'cause I l-ove you…"

Dorian exhaled sharply, shakily, a sob on his lips. No one had ever said that to him before. And here Callum was, saying when he was-… "No. You don't get to do that," he said, unable to keep his voice from trembling. "You don't get to say that when you're… You don't get to say that right now. Remember? You have to be hale and whole when you say it – those are your rules."

Callum smiled weakly, the faintest twitching of his lips as he squeezed Dorian's hand. "N-ot gonna… have t-ime… later…"

"No," Dorian choked, "stop it. Stop it. You'll be fine. I just… I just need to heal you. Just need to get you back to camp. Which way is camp? You're better at directions than me, so just… just help me."

"No r-regrets," Callum murmured, blinks becoming longer, the first whispers of sleep. "No r-egrets…"

"Stop it," he said again, shoulders trembling. Then, loudly: "Help! We need help!"

Surely the others would have come looking for them by now, right? How long had it been? Surely they were searching for them. They had to be. They had to be.

"We need help!" he called again, louder this time.

" 'm… s-orry… D-ori…"

"Apologize when you're better so I can properly yell at you," Dorian said, focusing all of his willpower into healing magic, but he knew so little of it. He was a necromancer. Not a healer. He dealt with dead things, not living.

I'll bring you back. I'll bring you back, I'll fix this.

He'd find a way. He wouldn't, couldn't, let this be the end.

"L-ove…" The hitch in Callum's breath cut off his words.

No. No, no, no – not yet. Don't go. Not yet. Not him.

The words swirled through Dorian's mind. A prayer to anyone willing to listen.

Please not him.

"Don't do this," he found himself whispering around a sob. "Don't you do this, you – you foolish rogue! Why did you do this!"

Why did you take the hit for me? I am not worth it. We need you, not me.

They needed the Herald of Andraste, not Dorian Pavus.

He'd rather die a hundred deaths than watch this happen. Than let this happen.

Please.

"AmatusAmatus, look at me-"

Callum's gaze had gone cloudy, his blinks long and slow.

He tightened his grip on Callum's hand, painfully so. He would have bruised, if not crushed, fingers later, but at least it left a little clarity returning to his gaze. The mark on his left hand pulsated, zapping against Dorian's palm. He swallowed, feeling energy thrum through him.

Energy from the mark, energy from the Fade-mark, energy he didn't question, energy he put immediately into healing Callum.

Did he have any healing potions on him?

No. He hadn't thought to grab any as he stormed out of camp in search of the rogue. He was such a fool.

"Don't leave me," he breathed, watching Callum choke for breath, blood staining his blue-tinged lips. He swallowed, and bent over, pressing his lips lightly against those blood-stained ones, tasting that metallic tang. "Please," he whispered against those lips, "don't go, Amatus."

It was all he had left – pleading, as he tried to heal what he could. He could feel his magic doing work, mending the skin, keeping more blood from spilling free, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough. Callum needed more than that. He needed an actual healer. He needed Anders.

If Dorian could just keep him alive a little longer – keep him with him a little longer – then perhaps the others would find them. They had to be searching. They had to be. Surely Emry had woken them after he'd woken Dorian, perhaps not right away but after enough time had passed.

Surely they were looking for them.

He just had to keep Callum here with him a little longer.

But he'd lost so much blood…

The blade hadn't gone all the way through, which was their only saving grace otherwise he would already be dead, but it had gone in deep enough. A stomach wound was not to be taken lightly, especially with this much blood. And Dorian was no healer.

Dorian's lips trembled. He pulled back, looking at Callum. Copper-green eyes remained open, but they were so dark, as though the blood had stolen the light from them. The blood staining Dorian's hands, coating his knees as he knelt in the puddle which was thankfully no longer growing…

It reminded him of so long ago, when he opened the door to his cabin in the Hinterlands, and Callum all but collapsed on him, bleeding out. While Emry rushed to get a healer from a nearby town, Dorian did what he could for Callum, to keep him alive until help arrived. He'd managed it then.

He managed to keep Callum awake and alive all the way to Redcliff, after the battle with the blood mage, too. He'd managed it then.

He could do the same now.

He had to.

"Talk to me," Dorian said before he realized what he was saying.

If he kept him talking, he couldn't slip away, could he?

Certainly not.

Not mid-speech, that would just be rude, and cruel, and… and…

"H-Hurts…" the rogue managed to push past reluctant lips, voice this weak, raw thing.

Dorian fought back a wince. He needed to be strong – no more crying. Maker, was he crying? He blinked back the tears. "Getting stabbed tends to hurt, but you'll pull through," he said. "You'll be back to stabbing things in no time."

Just stay with me. A little longer. Stay with me.

"We need help over here!" he called out again, tearing his gaze briefly away from Callum to look around, but sadly, they were still alone. Desperation clawed furiously at him. "Help!"

Someone. Anyone. Please. Don't let him die.

"D-ori… s-s-top…"

He looked back at the rogue. "I will not stop, Amatus. I won't let you die. I'll… I'll bring you back. I'll fix this."

"C-an't…"

"I can," Dorian said, furious. "I can fix this, or what good is my magic?"

What good was his magic if he couldn't help those around him? What good was his magic if he couldn't help those he… those he loved? What good was his magic if he couldn't help Callum?

" 's… okay…"

"It is not okay," Dorian said, vision blurred by the wetness in his eyes once more. "It is so far from okay they are not even in the same country, do you hear me?" He sucked in a shaky breath. "We need help!"

Callum's breath hitched again. His fingers clawed into Dorian's as he arched off the ground briefly, expression contorted in pain.

Dorian squeezed his hand. "Amatus?"

"… C-Can't… b-b-reathe…" Callum said, panicking somewhat, mouth open wide as he strained for breath, his gasps quick and short. "… H-Hurts…!"

No, no, no. Don't leave me.

"You can breathe," Dorian assured him, swallowing back another sob. "You can breathe, Amatus. You're okay. You're okay. You're okay."

"…-rian? Callum?... Where…?"

The voices were faint, but he could just make them out. Shouting, not far from here. Oh, thank the Maker.

Hope was a fragile feeling, dangling on a broken string in Dorian's mind, but he clawed at it nevertheless.

"We're over here!" he shouted, not tearing his gaze away from Callum as he struggled for breath.

"…Dorian?!"

"Over here!" he said again. "Hurry! Bring Anders!" He swallowed and focused on the rogue, ignoring the returning shouts. "Hear that, Amatus? Help's coming."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Callum's face, his fingers twitched once against Dorian's, and then his eyes closed.

Dorian's heart skipped a beat. "Amatus?" he whispered, squeezing his hand. "Callum? Open your eyes. Look at me. Help is coming, you can't just – look at me!"

Callum remained still and silent.

Silent?

With a sob Dorian lowered his head to Callum's mouth, waiting, listening, but he could hear no shaky, choked breaths. Instead it was silent. Shoulders shaking, he tore his hand free of Callum's and pressed his trembling fingers to the rogue's neck, waiting, waiting, waiting