Dorian wakes to warm hands lifting his chin, calloused fingers caressing his cheeks. His sight swims, eyes refusing to focus as he blinks through the tears that still trail down his cheeks. Everything seems too bright, to vivid, and he squints against the light of the single candle in the room. Blood sits thick in his mouth, coating his tongue and he coughs weakly, wincing as lacerations in his skin twist as his skin moves. Tendrils of the Fade still wrap around his mind, pulling away slowly as his mental fog clears.

He knows whose hands touch him, hold him, and yet he refuses to look. A conversation waits there, a conversation that he's terrified to have. So instead he straightens and pulls away from those loving hands; he bites back a groan as his back and joints protest the way he'd fallen asleep doubled over with his face pressed into Cullen's bed, while his neck and head throb with the pain of being punched in the face. Dried blood that crusted under his nose flakes away as he frowns. His tongue twists in his mouth, trying to work up enough saliva to wash down the coppery taste stuck to his teeth.

"Dorian."

The tears finally slow, though they still roll down to burn in the cuts and scrapes littering his face. He feels used up, empty, his mana completely depleted. The leather of his clothing sticks to his clammy skin; he coughs again, tries to clear the lump that's beginning to form in his throat.

"Dorian."

The voice is so loud, so painful in his ears that it sends his world tilting for a second. It tilts enough to shake out the thoughts swimming in his mind. Words tumble unbidden from his lips. "How did you know?"

The silence that answers him makes him finally look at Cullen, at the beard that's grown in his weeks of sleep, the heavy bags under his eyes, the creases in his face that weren't there a mere two months ago. His eyebrows are drawn together in confusion, eyes still slightly glazed from his sudden awakening.

Dorian grimaces. He doesn't want to elaborate, doesn't want to think about what just happened but he can't get the questions out of his head. He has to know, has to understand how he's sitting here alive and (relatively) well, with nothing more than a broken nose and bruises and cuts to show just how close to oblivion he was.

Cullen meets his gaze and Dorian's eyes skip away, looking at a spot to the right of his head. His jaw is clenched and he has to coax himself into relaxing his mouth enough to ask again, "How did you know it was me?"

Even without looking at him dead-on, the understanding that blooms on Cullen's face is clear as day, yet he doesn't answer straight away. A myriad of emotions flash across his face, too quick for Dorian to pick out, as he thinks, eyes glancing down at his hands. There's bruising on his knuckles, the skin swollen and rubbed raw. Cullen flexes his hands, winces in pain, but still offers no response.

Dorian leans back in his seat, unsure of how to feel. Disappointed at not getting a response, yes, but other than that? Everything is too muddled in his brain, too twisted from the Fade, to make much sense right now. He sighs and scrapes some of the dried blood from his mustache, lets his eyes drift closed in exhaustion.

"...You trusted me."

His eyes snap open and straight to Cullen, though the other man is staring at his palms, slowly closing his hands into fists then relaxing them. The words hang in the air; Dorian realizes he's holding his breath and exhales slowly.

"Of course I trust you," Dorian says slowly, but Cullen's frowning and shaking his head.

"No, you trusted me then, with a sword swinging at your head." Cullen takes a deep breath then releases it, shoulders sagging. "Not once did you attack me, though you had plenty opportunity, as well as cause."

Dorian's eyebrows twitch upwards. Didn't attack him? "I threw you nearly thirty feet," he points out.

"In self-defense," Cullen counters. "And when you were bested… when I hurt you…" He trails off to a whisper, one hand rubbing at the knuckles of the other idly as he stares off. Dorian can tell Cullen's trying to think of the right words to say and stays silent to give the other man the time and space to work his way through his thoughts.

Dorian gives his nose an experimental touch then snatches his hand back with grimace. Definitely broken, and beyond his healing capabilities. A drop of blood drips from his nose into his lap. He wipes the tip of his nose with a delicate swipe of his fingertip, though even that is enough to send pain shooting into his skull.

He looks up to see Cullen holding out a small white cloth with a wane smile. Dorian takes it with a small 'thank you' and holds it to his nose as blood runs anew from the damaged tissue.

"Sorry about that," Cullen apologizes, gesturing vaguely towards Dorian's face.

"Considering the alternative was beheading, I'm fine with a broken nose," Dorian replies without thinking. As soon as the words leave his tongue he's cursing himself for his glibness. The way Cullen's face goes blank makes the bottom of his stomach drop out and he leans forward, ready to apologize for his off-handed remark. But Cullen holds up his hand to stop him and shakes his head, and Dorian closes his mouth with a frown.

"No, you're right." Cullen sighs and tilts his head back, staring up at the ceiling. "I could have done far worse to you, Dorian, and there's no excuse for that."

"You could have done far worse, true, but you didn't." A thrall to a demon, Cullen should have lopped off his head without a second thought, but something had stopped him. And Cullen's mention of trust doesn't make sense. What does trust have to do with Dorian still having his head on his shoulders? "And I'm fairly certain the demon is a perfectly reasonable excuse for my injuries."

Whatever response Cullen has for that is lost when Elena bursts into the room with Solas in tow, face a thundercloud. "You. Went. In. Alone?" she bellows. Dorian throws his hands up and leans back as she stalks towards him, shaking a fist in his face.

"It isn't as if I did it on purpose!" Dorian ducks down, barely avoiding being cuffed in the ear.

"You could have gotten the both of you killed, you bastard!" She swings again and manages to connect her open palm with the side of his head.

A string of Tevene curses spills from Dorian's mouth and he covers his face with his arms. The hit isn't painful compared to his other hurts, but it's enough to make starbursts appear in his vision and he sways in his seat, a headache exploding in his skull. A wave of nausea overtakes him, bile rising in his throat. Something cushions his fall as the world tumbles around him and he loses his seat, arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Someone's saying something, he can hear them talking, but no matter how hard he tries he can't understand the words - they could be gibberish for all he knows. Something cold presses against his forehead and he only realizes belatedly that it's an unfamiliar hand when Solas suddenly comes into view, his face massive in his vision. Instinct tells him to lean back but making his body do what he wants it to is beyond his current capabilities. No matter how Dorian tries to pull away from the egg-headed insufferable man, his body refuses to respond.

Somewhere in the back of his addled mind, Dorian can feel Solas draw on the Fade. Nearly three decades of training screams at him to get away, he's using magic on him without his permission, he's incapable of protecting himself and who knows what the elf plans to do to him.

(Somewhere else in the back of his mind, Dorian realizes this isn't a rational line of thought, but rational thinking isn't something that's happening for him right now).

And then Solas is pouring magic into his head and his skull is filled to the brim with warmth. Dorian's nose is filled with the smell of mint and petrichor and the rapid shift from disorder to lucidity punches the air out of his lungs. A headache still lurks but the general pain in his face is all but a distant memory, his mind clear and senses working correctly.

"My apologies for the presumed consent, but you were suffering from a severe concussion and weren't capable of responding to my questions." Solas is on his knees on the floor in front of him, leaning back to give him space.

Dorian blinks, reorients himself, and takes a second to assess the situation. He'd fallen from his chair, that much is clear, but where he thought only one person caught him is actually two. Both Cullen and Elena have their arms around him, Elena's face a picture of concern while Cullen has the look of someone coming down from sheer panic.

"Forgive me," Cullen whispers fiercely, misery clear on his face. "This is all my fault, please -"

"No," Elena interrupts, "this is what he gets for going into a dangerous situation without proper support." Her words are hard but there's no heat behind them, her worry overriding her earlier anger.

Dorian pulls a face and shoots a glare at her. "As I said before, I didn't exactly plan on doing anything. Falling asleep is not a crime, unless you've rewritten any more laws of the land that I need to be aware of."

They roll their eyes at each other while Cullen and Solas look on, though Cullen's eyes are still dark with melancholy. The four of them work together to get off the floor with some semblance of dignity; Cullen needs Dorian's support as he stands on shaky legs that haven't been used in a good while. Once they're all back on their feet, Solas takes his leave and Elena slips out to get Theoren so she can check on Cullen's vitals and make sure he's alright.

Dorian helps Cullen shuffle backwards until he's sitting down on his bed. He goes to pull away but hesitates, lets his hands move from Cullen's arms to his shoulders, brushing gently to his neck, cupping the back of his head and twisting his fingers in his wheat-colored hair. Cullen is warm - is always warm - and he lets himself sink into that heat, leaning forward and pressing Cullen's head into his stomach. Cullen's hands grip his hips, fingernails digging into the leather of his pants and biting at his skin. He hangs on like Dorian is his lifeline, as if he's afraid that Dorian will simply disappear, evaporate into thin air.

Maker, but Dorian's missed him. He leans forward and buries his nose into Cullen's hair, breathing in that unmistakable woodsy scent that's pure Cullen Stanton Rutherford. The woods and lakes are in his blood and it leaks from his skin to swaddle Dorian in comfort. Dorian never thought he'd find peace in such untamed lands, yet the rolling hills and active wildlife have seduced him as much as the Commander has.

This feels like home, more than Minrathous, more than the whole of Tevinter, has ever felt. Here, now, in Cullen's arms, is where he wants to be for the rest of his life.

It's a daunting realization, one to be left alone for now as Theoren enters the room and the two men separate so that she can conduct her tests.

A little over an hour later finds Dorian and Cullen curled up in his bed. Theoren had deemed him healthy enough considering all he'd been through, and had told Dorian he should "sleep in a bed for a change," which he took to heart.

She never specified which bed, after all, and though it's a little smaller than his tastes, there's enough room for the two of them to lay side by side with relative comfort.

They do so now, curled facing towards each other, legs tangled under the blankets. Cullen's changed into something more comfortable than an infirmary gown, and Dorian's all but stripped naked, wearing only his small clothes. Cullen's eyes linger on his exposed torso for a moment before meeting his, and Dorian smiles at him.

"I've missed you terribly," Dorian states, and the small smile that curls Cullen's lips is enough to make his own widen into a grin. "It feels like it's been a year since we've properly shared a bed, let alone had a conversation."

Cullen's chuckle rumbles through the mattress, felt more than heard. "You could have been sharing a bed with me the entire time I slept," he notes, one hand reaching to touch his forearm, tracing circles and patterns on his skin with the tips of his fingers. The touch is feather light, and Dorian's skin breaks out into gooseflesh at the contact. Were they both in better condition, this would dissolve into a frenzy of sexual escapades, but neither of them are even close to being well enough for more than a kiss or two. Even with Solas's impromptu healing, Dorian's brain feels too big for his skull and his body is weak, and Cullen…

Darkness lingers in his eyes, haunted by whatever the demon had done to him before Dorian had arrived. Dorian knows from experience that some hurts take more time to process than others, and knows that Cullen will speak about it if he needs to and not a moment sooner, so he doesn't press him for information.

"Share a bed with you while you were injured?" Dorian clutches a hand to his chest in mock-incredulity. "Take advantage of your injured state? As if Theoren would have let me survive such an attempt."

Cullen laughs then, a real laugh that makes him close his eyes and do that little inhale-snort that's so ridiculous yet so endearing. "If she's anything like she was twenty years ago, you wouldn't survive even the thought." He laughs more, clearly enjoying the image he's conjured in his mind, and Dorian…

Emotions overtake him as the reality of just how close he was to never having this again hits him. Never sharing a bed, sharing the same space, breathing the same air. His thoughts must show on his face because suddenly Cullen's hands are cupping his face, pulling him closer until he can press their foreheads together. "Shh, love," he soothes, thumbs wiping away the tears that crest his lower lashes and make it to his cheeks.

All the worries and fears that were left to simmer for the last two months finally boil over and a sob rips free from Dorian's throat as he buries his face into the crook of Cullen's neck and finally releases all of his pent up emotion. Cullen's arms wrap around him, pull him in tight, as he whispers to calm him, "I'm here, it's okay, we're alright."

"You could have died." The words hurt, the reality of it hurts, and he empties himself of his pain into Cullen's arms, soaks his shift with his tears. After a few minutes, though, he runs dry. His shoulders stop their shaking, his tears stop, he begins to breathe normally again. Cullen peppers the top of his head with kisses, palms rubbing soothing circles in the small of his back. Silence fills the room, broken only by their breathing. It reigns for so long that Dorian wonders if Cullen has fallen asleep. He shifts, but Cullen's arms tighten, holding him in place.

"You asked how I knew it was you," Cullen whispers, and Dorian stills. "I don't know for certain, and probably never will, but in that moment, as you bared your neck to my blade, you trusted me to make the right choice. You trusted me to rise above the demon's manipulation, to be better than what it tried to make me. I have been at the mercy of demons -" his breath hitches, and Dorian presses a kiss to his collarbone "- before, and yet knowing what they turned me into, you put your life in my hands and trusted that I wouldn't throw it away. Nobody else trusts me like that, loves me enough to."

The admission leaves Dorian speechless so he responds the only way he can think of, and captures Cullen's lips in a slow kiss, one that he pours all his love and adoration into, hoping that his tongue against Cullen's can convey his feelings better than words can.