Iron Bull's voice cut through the din of the battle, which was just descending from its peak now that the pride demon was at least subdued. "Shit, Amelia's down! Dorian, get in there!"
Dorian cursed. "Fastas vas!" he snapped, and swiftly used a burst of magic to extricate himself from the shades coming at him before sprinting in. He knew Cassandra had to have heard it but she was busy taking out a particularly pesky terror and couldn't afford to divert her eyes. Dorian felt his hands shaking as he quickly checked Mel's pulse-faint but definitely there. He let out a long breath of relief before pulling a potion from his belt. "Bull, cover us!"
"Way ahead of you, kadan. We're almost done here anyway," Bull replied, and laid the final blow upon the now-rousing pride demon before slicing through the remaining shades.
Dorian gently slapped at Mel's reddened cheeks, cursing under his breath. "Come on, Amelia, this rift won't seal itself-"
Mel awoke with a pained cough, her hand flying to to the shallow, bloodied gashes along the portion of her armor that covered her ribcage. Her eyes were still foggy as she tried to focus on Dorian. "Fucking shit-"
"Rift, Amelia!"
"Okay, okay-" Amelia struggled up and before Dorian could help, Bull was boosting her on his own, while Cassandra loped towards them with a slight limp. Mel hissed in pain as she raised her arm and winced as she sealed the rift; Dorian shook his head as the burst of magic made his teeth fuzzy.
"What hit you, Inquisitor? When I'd last looked in your direction you were nearly invisible," Cassandra asked, her face harsh like a mentor's but still concerned like a friend's.
Mel scrunched up her nose as the pain in her lacerations flared. "Laying traps. Got cocky and forgot that shades have some big fucking claws. Solas would be so proud, always reminding me to be wary of demons and such."
"Solas would not dream to mock you-he would worry," Cassandra retorted. "Let us return to camp."
"Can you walk, boss? If not, I can-"
Amelia smirked as she glanced up at Bull. "Can't let the troops see their fearless leader carted in like a hapless maiden, now can we?" she joked. "Thanks, but your arm is plenty. Just do me a favor and don't let me fall."
"Not a chance," Bull replied with a smile.
They began to walk-slowly, slower than Mel would've wanted if not for her stupid wound-and she turned to Dorian. "Alright, go on, Dorian. Scold, admonish, reprimand, finger-wag. I know you want to. It wouldn't be a proper scrap if you didn't."
Dorian's expression was almost comical in its annoyance, smeared as it was by blood and demon remnants. "You are far too eager to take risks for someone whose main skill is laying traps and shooting arrows, Amelia. Maker forbid there comes a time when we have to bring pieces of you back to your dear commander."
"Please never say that within earshot of the man, for his own sake."
Amelia would never get used to the way that people fawned over her, now that she was touched by the Maker or Andraste or whatever it was that everyone else called it. Having been raised in nobility, she'd been doted on plenty in her youth, which was kind and innocently-meant at best and cloyingly aggravating at worst, but her life in Ostwick was nothing compared to what it was like to be the Inquisitor.
The moment they arrived at Direstone Camp, two Inquisition soldiers and the healer all rushed to her, taking her from Bull and guiding her to the tent she shared with Cassandra.
"I can move on my own, Browdin, I promise-" Amelia insisted, but growled under her breath in annoyance as Dorian cut her off.
"She's lying. Lay her down and keep her there, would you?" he said in his usual flippant tone, and Amelia looked back to glare at him; he responded with a 'go ahead' wave of his hand as he followed them, the air around him subtly starting to shift as he presumably gathered mana for healing spells.
Amelia decided to stop protesting and let herself be placed on the cot in the tent; the world around her spun, making her scrunch her eyes closed, and Dorian rolled his eyes.
"I told you to take it easy, Amelia-"
"Don't snip at me, I didn't do anything-"
Dorian knelt next to the cot and used a quick spell to fill a nearby basin with water. "Hush and let me work. Be a dear and grab rags, some elfroot, and serah Mirae, would you please?" He glanced up at Browdin and he nodded curtly before darting out of the tent.
"I'm sorry, Dorian. I'm not usually so. . .sloppy," Amelia murmured, tugging off her outer layer of clothing.
"Think nothing of it, my dear. I'd rather take time to patch up the Herald of Andraste than watch our only source of closing the rifts succumb to her wounds," Dorian replied, and while his tone was as breezy and confident as usual, Mel could hear the bit of strain at the edge. She tentatively caught his eye.
"Say that all you want, but we both know I was, in fact, sloppy," Mel added, and Dorian paused for a moment before rolling his eyes and then letting out a quick huff of laughter.
"I already told you off on the way here, I don't think it needs doing again," he said, and gave her a quick grin. The tent flapped open again to reveal the same soldier from before, now holding a wicker box of healing salves with a bowl of water perched precariously on top. Dorian darted up from where he'd been sitting to help him. "Mm, allow me-" He took the bowl in one hand and nodded for him to place the box on the floor, and out of the corner of her eye Mel watched Browdin salute and leave the tent again.
She cast her gaze over to Dorian, who'd begun to dampen a rag.
"What? Can't keep your eyes off me, I see?"
Mel smiled, hoping that her exhaustion made it look as genuine as she felt. "Thank you, Dorian?"
He arched a suspicious eyebrow, and the sight both saddened and endeared her-how was it that he didn't know how much his friendship meant to her? "What for?"
"For. . .always being there for me. I look to you first when we're out here like this, so. . .thank you."
He looked surprised for a moment, his hand hovering with the still-wet rag, before a warm smile lit up his face. "Always, my friend."