A/N: Sorry about the delay, I lost inspiration. Hopefully I'll update soon but no promises. As always, reviews are love and keep me updating 3
Chapter length: 4382
Onward!
Chapter Forty-Nine: Return to Skyhold
A pulse.
Dorian nearly collapsed with relief, but there was a pulse.
He just wasn't breathing.
"You're not leaving me," he said, moving closer to the rogue. "Do you hear me, Amatus? I will not allow it. Breathe, you fool."
He pinched Callum's nose closed and breathed for him, much as he had so long ago in his cabin in the Hinterlands. It had worked then, it would work now. It had to. It had to.
He breathed for him, and checked his pulse again. Faint, but still there. Weak and thready, but still there.
Still there.
"Don't do this to me," he whispered, breathing for him again.
And again, and again.
Footsteps quickly approached him. Hands grabbed his shoulders and roughly hauled him away from Callum. He clawed at the rogue, shaking his head – no he could not, would not, be parted from him, he had to stay with him, had to-
Bull would always be stronger than him, though.
He easily held him back, forcing him to his feet, leading him away as Anders and Cassandra took his place.
"What happened?" Emry snapped, suddenly next to him.
But Dorian couldn't answer. Couldn't answer because all that came out when he opened his mouth was this choked sob, which was… terribly embarrassing, if he were in his right mind, but he wasn't. All he could do was stare at the motionless, breathless figure on the ground.
Please, he thought, pathetically. His father would be so ashamed with him right now, but his father's opinion and approval no longer mattered to him. Please. Please.
"He's breathing," Anders said, and Cassandra pulled back.
Dorian's legs trembled, but he remained standing. He wasn't sure if that was because of his own determination to stand, or because of Bull's grip on his arm.
He's breathing. He's alive. They'll fix him.
They had to fix him. Fix this. Fix Dorian's mistake.
"Did you do this?" Anders asked, even as his hands moved, working healing magic over the wound. "It's almost closed. I'm impressed."
"Yes," Dorian managed to choke. He did do that, but he wasn't sure how. He had little knowledge of healing magic, but he just… he had to do something, and the mark had given him some sort of push, some sort of energy, and he just… he put everything he had into fixing what he could, praying it would be enough.
"Bull, I need you to lift him, gently," Anders instructed. "I can't fix him here – we need to get him somewhere cleaner. All of this dirt is infecting him."
"Is he safe to move?" Emry asked, voicing Dorian's concerns.
"He's as stable as he can be, right now," Anders replied, shaking his head. "It's the blood loss that worries me, but he's breathing and his pulse is steady but weak." He looked past Emry at Dorian. "Did he just pass out?"
Dorian nodded. "Just before you got here," he said softly. "And he stopped… he stopped breathing."
"It's good you kept him awake as long as you did," Anders said gently. "That really helps. You did good."
Did he? No, he didn't. He was the cause for this in the first place.
He looked down at his hands. His blood-stained hands.
"Where is your staff?" Emry asked, as Bull moved past Dorian to gently pick up Callum's broken form. The rogue looked so small against the qunari.
"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. He honestly had no idea, and it was the furthest thing from his mind. It didn't matter.
Only one thing mattered to him at the moment.
"What happened?" Emry continued. A hand swatted his shoulder, grasping his arm, keeping him back from where he wanted to go. "Hey, I'm talking to you. Give them room to work, and they'll move faster without you hovering over them. What happened here, Dorian?"
Dorian swallowed thickly. "I was… I was looking for Callum. I made a mistake, a foolish mistake, and stepped on a paralysis glyph. The Venatori found me, and… they collared me, and I was useless."
He would have thought speaking about it would hurt his pride, or would just make him uncomfortable, but in truth… it didn't matter anymore. None of that mattered because Callum was dying, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. What did it matter if he was collared? It was in the past. All that mattered right now was saving Callum.
"They caught you?" Emry asked. "Hey, look at me."
It took longer than it should have, but finally Dorian glanced at him.
"Are you… alright?" Emry asked, frowning. "You're not yourself."
I'm not myself. How can I be myself, after what happened?
How was he supposed to be 'himself' after what happened? After watching Callum die before him, watching him bleed out with no way to stop it? After he begged him to stay, actually begged, when Dorian Pavus did not beg. How was he supposed to act after that? He didn't know. He just felt numb. Shaky. Cold, come to think of it. It was chilly, and he couldn't stop shaking.
"Huh," Emry said, watching him carefully. "You really care for him."
Dorian blinked at him. Was that in question? Perhaps he wasn't the most tactile of lovers, and they didn't do anything in the open, but he hoped he didn't make Callum feel shunned or something. He hoped he showed he cared, in his own way. He did care. He did.
He cared more than he should have, because caring this much was dangerous.
And painful.
Let him live.
"Do you love him?"
He stared at the elf. "I… I... What's it matter?"
What did it matter, how he felt? Saying the words wouldn't save Callum. He cared deeply for the rogue, more than he ever had about anyone else, but did he love him? He called him Amatus. Beloved. They were friends first, and it grew into something more, and he waited for him. He waited those seven long months, and then the year after. Waited when others gave up. Waited because he couldn't bear the thought of giving up hope.
And now…
Callum said he loved him. Yes, it was under duress, with him… dying, and everything, but he said the words.
Did he love him in return?
He wasn't sure he knew the meaning of the word, but he liked to think if he loved anyone… he loved Callum. He liked to think it was real. He liked to think it was love.
Why else would it hurt so much?
"It's a simple yes or no question, Dorian," Emry said, growing annoyed. "Do you love him?"
"Yes," he said weakly, and felt… unburdened, after saying it.
He loved Callum.
But Callum was dying, and he hadn't said the words. Hadn't said anything because he forbade Callum to say them, because those were Callum's rules and he was breaking them. No love confessions after sex, and not during life or death situations.
That was what he told Dorian.
And yet he'd said he loved Dorian, because he was dying, and he said there wouldn't be time later.
Dorian was going to be sick.
He hunched over and lost the contents of whatever meal he'd previously eaten – he couldn't even remember what it had been. It didn't matter. Now it was just bile on the ground.
"I'm sure he'll be okay," Emry offered, after a moment of silence. "You kept him alive this long. He's in good hands."
Of course he was in good hands; Anders was good at what he did, despite whatever else anyone might think of him. Yes, he started the mage rebellion and the mage-templar war in the first place, but no one could say he wasn't a great healer. If anyone could save Callum, it would be Anders.
Callum was in the best of hands – so why did that not make him feel better? Why was his stomach still in such knots, and the taste of bile still heavy in his mouth?
"Come on," Emry said, grabbing Dorian's arm. It was the first time the elf had willingly touched him in all their interactions, if Dorian remember correctly. There was no real reason to grab him, as Dorian was not falling or anything, and yet Emry willingly grabbed his arm and started leading him in the direction the others had gone.
Dorian didn't fight him, only allowed himself to be led. It seemed easier than thinking, at the moment.
xXx
It took hours before Anders left Callum and Dorian's tent, where he healed the rogue. Dorian paced outside, struggling not barge in and demand he be allowed to stay at the rogue's side. Foolish, he knew. He would only be in the way, but being stuck out here with the others was increasingly frustrating, bordering on unbearable. Callum was so close and yet so far, and even if he were next to him, it would be the same, he knew. Callum was in a deep state of unconsciousness – he'd stopped breathing, after all. He was critically injured, and Anders needed space and time to properly heal him, or he'd die. It was a miracle he was still alive, Dorian was told. It was meant to be praise at his quick thinking and attempts at healing, but instead of easing his mind or stroking his ego, the words merely left bile rising in his throat once more, though he swallowed it down.
For six long hours Anders healed Callum alone in their tent, and Dorian could not help but let his mind wander back to the previous night. He'd given Callum a massage, had him laid flat beneath him, the rogue pliable beneath his probing hands. Callum's words had been breathless and relaxed; things had been perfect then. Strange, how quickly things could go south.
In the span of one night Callum could be fine as Dorian massaged him, and then bleeding out on the dirt ground.
Dorian paced.
Iron Bull kept throwing him glances, but Dorian had no desire to imagine what sort of readings the qunari spy was getting from him. None of it mattered at the moment.
Emry tossed him a few glares, as did Cassandra; they were obviously irritated with his pacing, but he didn't – couldn't – stop. Pacing was the only thing keeping him from darting inside the tent and possibly distracting Anders from his vital work.
What would happen if Anders failed? If they all failed?
What would happen if Callum died?
There would be no one to close the rifts, or stop Corypheus.
The Dark Future would come to pass.
It might take a year for the world to end, but it would end that day for Dorian.
A shiver ran down his spine. It was so foreign to him, and strange, how much leverage Callum had over him. How much he cared about the rogue and his well-being. He'd known it from the start, of course; in those early days of fledgling friendship, he hadn't want to lost the rogue then, either. Now it was just much more pronounced.
What would Thedas do if Callum died?
What would Dorian do?
It would be his fault. He'd no doubt be thrown from the Inquisition. Where would he go? What would he do? None of it mattered, if the rogue died on him now.
Whatever Thedas might do to him for getting the Herald of Andraste killed, it would be no worse than he deserved. Whatever they might do, it would be no worse than his own mind did to him, as guilt gnawed at him.
He paced.
Finally, after six long hours, Anders emerged from the tent, hands covered in blood but otherwise, he wore a tired smile.
"He'll live," he said.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone except Dorian, who darted past Anders and entered the tent himself. Callum slept on the bed of furs, shirt and armor removed. A fur blanket was pulled up to his chin, but no doubt beneath that he wore bandaging around his middle. Anders healed him, but the bandaging added extra protection against infection, just in case the wound reopened or he hit that area again.
Dorian stared down at the rogue for a moment, before he released a ragged, breathy exhale.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there before the tent flap opened, and Cassandra stepped in behind him.
"We will be leaving soon," she told him.
"Leaving?" he echoed quietly. "He's not well enough to travel."
"Anders will be with him. He is going to sleep for a few hours, so he can regain his mana and attend to the Herald if needed, but then we are leaving."
"Where are we going?"
"We're going to start back toward Skyhold."
That was a long journey; Dorian dreaded it as much as he looked forward to it. It would be nice to be back at Skyhold, safe. However, he wasn't certain Callum was up for the journey.
"Are you certain he's well enough to travel?"
He didn't think Cassandra would put Callum willingly in any harm, but he still had to ask.
"Anders assures me he is stable. We will put him in a wagon; Emry found one not far from where we found you and Callum. The Venatori must have been using it to cart their cargo."
And now they would cart Callum in it, as though he were cargo as well. The knot in Dorian's stomach tightened.
"Very well," he said, aware it was their only real option. Anders was no doubt keeping Callum asleep for the time being, so he wouldn't further injure himself by moving as he no doubt would attempt to do upon awakening.
Stubborn rogue.
Cassandra bid him farewell, and reminded him that they would be leaving in a few hours if he wanted to get any sleep now. Then she exited the tent, leaving him once again alone with Callum.
Dorian knew he would not get any restful sleep, so he didn't even attempt to do so. Instead he crouched next to the downed rogue and attempted to wipe the blood off him. Anders had healed him, but hadn't even taken the time to wipe the blood off his own hands, let alone Callum. Dorian could understand why, of course; Anders was no doubt exhausted after healing him, and slipped away to get some rest, giving no thought to appearance.
Dorian wiped the dry blood away as best he could, though it seemed to be stained into his skin. Callum's brows knitted together briefly, and he stopped, watching the pale face momentarily. Callum's face relaxed again, and he remained unconscious.
Dorian exhaled slowly, and continued doing what he could to wipe the blood away.
xXx
Callum surprised himself later and woke up.
Waking itself wasn't really all that shocking; consciousness returned slowly, a low hum in the back of his mind, but gradually he made out voices, and the sound of a wagon of some sort moving, the wheels creaking. He could feel a cold wind on his face, leaving him shivering despite the mound of furs on top of him. Occasionally a warm hand touched his face, or brushed his hair away from his eyes.
Slowly, memories slid through his mind. Memories of pain, fierce and overpowering, and also fear. Intense, soul-stabbing fear. This is it, he'd thought. And beyond the fear – sadness. Not for his own life, but those he left behind. He didn't want to leave Dorian behind. Fear, that there were still enemies nearby, and someone might attack Dorian while he died on the ground.
But I'm not dead.
The thought took a full minute to register. When it did, he almost denied it outright – he couldn't be alive, could he? Except he was fairly certain the dead didn't feel physically pain. With every jerk of the wagon his body shifted somewhat, and pain shot through him. He winced, and forced heavy eyelids open.
A blurry face greeted him, though they weren't looking at him. After several long blinks his vision cleared enough for him to properly see the face. Dorian looked terrible, like he'd been the one ran through with a sword instead of Callum. There were dark rings around his eyes, and his face was paler than usual; he was usually quite tan, after all. Now the pallor stood out, even in the moonlight.
For a long moment, Callum merely stared at the mage.
Eventually, Dorian seemed to notice someone was watch him, for he looked around with a small frown, before his gaze finally settled on Callum. His eyes widened, and Callum smiled weakly at him.
"Hey, Dori," he said quietly, breathlessly, too tired to put much effort into it. Why was he so tired? How long had he been out? Where did they get the wagon? Why were they traveling? He had so many questions, but not the strength to ask them at the moment.
"You're awake," Dorian said, equally breathless, though for entirely different reasons, Callum would wager. "Kaffas, you're awake. Festis bei umo canavarum!" He inhaled deeply, releasing the breath slowly. "How do you feel? Silly question – of course you're tired and don't feel well, you were stabbed through with a sword. Which was stupid and foolish, by the way – taking the hit for me, I mean."
Callum blinked slowly, watching the way Dorian's mouth formed his words. He had a pretty mouth, even with that thing he called a mustache.
"Are you listening to me?" Dorian asked, and Callum realized he must have spaced out.
"Sorry," he murmured tiredly, "your… mouth is distracting."
He couldn't be certain due to the moonlight, but he thought he saw Dorian's cheeks darken slightly. "The things you say. But truly – how are you, Amatus?"
Warmth slid through Callum despite the chill in the air. "I'm fine," he said, and then winced at the scowl which lined Dorian's face. "Alright, alright – I'm not fine, but… I'm okay. I'm alive, which is more than I expected."
The more he spoke, the easier it got, though he was still exhausted. Exhausted and so very sore.
But I'm alive, he thought again. How am I alive?
He had a feeling asking that question wouldn't go over very well with Dorian at the moment.
"Of course you're alive," Dorian said in response to his earlier statement. "It simply wouldn't do for the Herald to die saving an evil Tevinter magister."
"You're not a magister," he said, smirking tiredly. "And last I checked you weren't evil, unless you did some blood sacrifices while I was out."
"Sadly, no sacrifices," Dorian said, shaking his head. "Unless you count your self-sacrificing ways." Those eyes narrowed into thin slits as the mage glared down at him.
"I couldn't let him hurt you," Callum said quietly.
And that was the truth.
When he saw that warrior getting ready to slash his sword at Dorian, to possibly impale Dorian, something inside of him snapped. He couldn't, wouldn't, allow that to happen. So he simply stepped between the two, as it was all he could do at the time. The pain was worth it, if it kept Dorian safe. His death was worth it if Dorian lived.
The breath Dorian released was more than a little ragged. "And you thought I could handle you-…" He cut himself off, Adam's apple bobbing. "You foolish, foolish rogue. Reckless. Do you know what would happen if you died? The Dark Future would come to pass!"
Callum winced. Right, the Dark Future. It was why he needed to be careful; the Inquisition needed his hand, after all. Not him, but his hand. It was what was important. The mark, the Anchor. Not Callum.
"I couldn't let you die," he said, because it was his only defense. He couldn't and wouldn't let Dorian die, not if he could help it. If that meant he had to die in his place… then so be it, Dark Future be damned.
Dorian frowned deeply; he'd have permanent frown lines if he kept that up. "And you thought… what, exactly? That I could let you die? That I could watch you die?"
Callum winced again, at the tone of Dorian's voice. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm selfish. I couldn't let you die. I refused."
"You are selfish," Dorian muttered, before he shook his head. "And selfless. You nearly gave your life for me, Amatus…"
"Worth it," he said softly.
"No," Dorian said sharply, "not worth it, do you hear me? Not worth it at all."
"Worth it," he said again, firmly. His eyes drifted shut, too heavy to remain open. "Where are we going?"
"Skyhold," Dorian replied. "In case you were wondering, you've been unconscious for three days. Anders kept you unconscious so you could heal. He decided the worst was passed today, and you've beaten your infection. Your fever broke this morning. So he let you wake up."
Let him wake up. He didn't particularly like the sound of that, but nevertheless, he was grateful for Anders.
"Tell him… I owe him a drink, when we get back to Skyhold."
"I will pass the message on."
"How are you?" Callum asked, forcing heavy eyelids open once more. Soon he wouldn't be able to fight the sleep clawing at him.
"Me?" Dorian asked, confused. "I wasn't injured."
"You were collared," Callum said sleepily. "I remember that. And there's different kinds of injuries."
Dorian might not have been physically injured, but watching someone bleed out in front of you could be just as painful as the physical injury, sometimes worse. It was why Callum tried so hard to be the one with the injury, rather than the onlooker, watching helplessly. He hated being helpless.
Dorian didn't answer for a long moment. The wagon creaked steadily, the wind blowing lightly against Callum's face. Callum shivered beneath the blankets, wincing as the movement pulled at sore muscles. Dorian added another fur blanket onto the pile, noticing his chill.
"You should rest, Amatus," he said finally. "We'll talk later."
That meant there was something to talk about. Was he in trouble again?
He was too tired to think about it right now. Sleep sounded amazing, and his eyes were already closing.
He was asleep in less than a minute.
xXx
They returned to Skyhold in just shy of a week. For the most part, Callum was confined to the wagon and slept the majority of the time. When he did wake it was only in short bursts. He ate, had the wagon stop so he could make water, and then they'd be back on their way. He despised being stuck in the wagon, but Dorian refused to budge on that matter, and Bull bodily backed him up whenever Callum tried to sneak out of it.
"Don't make me come back there and put you back in the wagon, Boss," the qunari would say, even though he was the one pulling the wagon along, for the most part.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Callum would answer.
And thus he remained in the wagon for the journey, with Dorian next to him, tending to his needs. He hated being mothered, but if he told Dorian to stop the mage would get this crease to his brow he didn't like, so he just let it happen.
He'd be the same way, he told himself, if it had been Dorian who was stabbed instead of him. If he had to watch Dorian nearly bleed out in the dirt, he'd be mothering him as well. So he allowed it.
Finally, thankfully, they made it to Skyhold.
Callum climbed out of the wagon despite Dorian's protests. Bull didn't stop him this time, as the gates closed behind them. Hawke hurried toward them, with Cullen in tow.
"We saw you approaching," Hawke said. "You look awful. What happened?"
"We were attacked by Venatori," Cassandra said with a scowl. "The Herald was critically injured. Anders healed him, but we deemed it best to return to Skyhold."
"I trust your enemies are dead?" Hawke asked, frowning. "Considering you're still standing."
Callum flashed him a weak smile. "Of course."
Hawke relaxed slightly. "Good. So you weren't followed."
"Skyhold's defenses are ever growing, Inquisitor," Cullen said. "It would do them no good to attack us outright. They would fail."
"How are you?" Hawke asked, ignoring Cullen.
"I'm fine, just don't ask me to laugh. Still sore."
"Uh huh." He turned to face Dorian. "How is he, really?"
"Hey," Callum protested. "I'm right here, you know!"
"You're also prone to downplaying everything, Boss," Iron Bull said. "No offense."
"That's a nice way of saying you're a liar," Emry said helpfully.
"I hate you both," Callum muttered.
"No you don't," Bull said.
"He is doing much better than he was," Dorian told Hawke.
"How bad was it?"
"Very," was all Dorian said, mouth a thin line. He still looked awful, even days later and in daylight, like he hadn't slept the whole time.
"He was ran through with a sword," Emry said, scowling. "But let's not discuss it; it was bloody enough the first time. Anders fixed him."
Hawke looked at his old friend fondly. "Thank you."
"I wouldn't let him die," Anders said, looking away. "He's my friend, too."
"I didn't mean to insinuate you would; I know you wouldn't let anyone die," Hawke said gently.
"Well," Callum said, clapping his hands together, "this has been fun, but I'm going to stretch my legs for a bit, now that I can."
He promptly left them behind before they could start arguing. A moment later he heard footsteps behind him, and knew who it was without turning around. He waited a moment, and kept his pace, and finally Dorian caught up with him.
"Don't overstrain yourself," Dorian warned.
"You worry too much."
"Considering the precedent you've set, I worry just the perfect amount."
He sighed heavily. "It's not like I go looking for danger, you know."
"And yet you keep almost dying." The words were meant to be light, but there was a darker undertone he heard nevertheless.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I never meant to worry you."
Dorian said nothing, though his silence spoke volumes.
