When Dorian woke the next morning light was streaming in through the seams of the tent and he was alone again. There was no sign of Aldaron anywhere, even his boots were gone. Dorian was not particularly surprised, but he was a little concerned. The Inquisitor had not been himself the night before, to say the very least. The spot beside him on the bedroll was as cold as though Aldaron had never been there. How long had he been gone?
Worry gnawing at the back of his mind, Dorian rose from the bedroll and began getting ready for the day ahead. He dressed in the only set of clean robes he had – and even these were dusty from travel, but at least they weren't covered in blood – and ensured that his hair and moustache were in perfect order before gathering up his staff and leaving the tent.
By that point he'd managed to convince himself that he was worrying about nothing. For all he knew the Inquisitor had run off to early morning war council and politely left Dorian to his beauty sleep. But as he found himself something to eat and listened to the idle gossip of soldiers and servants packing up supplies it became apparent that was not the case.
So then, if he were the Inquisitor where would he be? No trees out here in the desert, so he would likely go for the highest most isolated place in the area. Not a lot of isolation available out here, either, with people still running around like chickens with their heads cut off. The walls, then; where Aldaron had been pacing before the assault. When Dorian had been assuring him that nothing would go wrong before everything went absolutely as wrong as possible. In hindsight he felt like a bit of an ass, but who could have predicted they would fall physically into the Fade. Perhaps that was why he felt so responsible for trying to heal Aldaron's pain.
It certainly wasn't because he had feelings for the elf. Certainly not because he was in love or anything of the sort. That was preposterous.
"You're becoming shockingly predictable," Dorian commented as he reached the wall top. Aldaron startled so badly at the sound of his voice that the elf almost physically jumped and spun around quickly to face him, hands already reaching for the daggers at his back before he recognized Dorian and managed to stop himself. The reaction was so dramatic that Dorian very nearly threw a barrier up between them. "Kaffas," he breathed a sigh of relief when Aldaron stopped, "It's only me."
"You startled me," Aldaron said. His eyes were wide, with dark circles underneath as he slowly relaxed and lowered his hands.
"Evidently," Dorian replied, and took in the elf's appearance for a moment. He looked just as exhausted as he had the night before. "Did you sleep at all?"
"Yes," Aldaron replied, though he looked away and would not meet Dorian's eyes when he answered.
Of course he had, Dorian had seen him fall asleep, but that wasn't really what he was asking. "Did you sleep more than an hour?" Aldaron did not reply, but his silence was answer enough. Dorian sighed. He was concerned that Aldaron hadn't been able to sleep, but he didn't know what to do about it.
"You don't understand," Aldaron said quietly. "I don't want… I can't go back there."
"To the Fade?" Dorian asked. He remembered what Aldaron had said the night before. Was he afraid to fall asleep? "Amatus, dreams can't hurt you. They're not real."
"I know that!" the Inquisitor snapped suddenly, startling Dorian with his outburst. Then just as quickly he quieted down and shied away, murmuring a soft "I'm sorry."
"You're exhausted," Dorian said, easily forgiving the outburst this time. Aldaron was still shaken by what had happened to them, he would have to choose his words carefully. "You need to rest."
"I can't," the elf stressed again, and sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "We're heading back to Skyhold today," he mumbled, an attempt to change the subject that Dorian saw through immediately.
"Are you going to be able to ride without falling asleep and falling off your horse?" Dorian asked, a little more accusatory than he really meant. This wasn't going at all the direction he had intended.
Aldaron frowned, his brow furrowed, "I'm fine," he insisted.
"Fine?" Dorian asked incredulously. "That display last night and you expect me to believe you're fine?"
"What do you want me to say, Dorian?" Aldaron growled – actually growled – in frustration. "That I'm too scared to go to sleep? Scared the moment I close my eyes I'll be right back there with that thing and I'll have to watch Stroud die all over again? Do you want to hear that I've been up here for hours trying to think about anything else, but I can't? I keep seeing it over and over even when I'm awake, so how much worse is it bound to be if I go to sleep? Is that what you want to hear?" As he ranted Aldaron's voice rose in pitch as he worked himself up nearly into the panic of the night before.
"I want to help, Aldaron," Dorian said, trying to sound calm and reassuring and not feeling entirely successful. Maker, he had no idea how he was supposed to help his lover, but he wanted to. He wanted to do anything he could to make Aldaron feel safe and secure again.
"You can't… Nobody can," Aldaron's voice did soften, but in despair rather than calm. "You… You laugh about demons trying to possess you. You're not afraid. You couldn't possibly understand."
Did he truly think that Dorian wasn't ever afraid? Certainly their ordeal hadn't effected him as badly as it had Aldaron, but he'd been plenty afraid. "Then help me understand," the man said earnestly. He took a step forward to close the space between them and reached out to cup the elf's face gently. "I want to help. Please don't shut me out like you do everyone else."
Aldaron shook his head slightly, but didn't pull away. Given how unstable his mood seemed to be, Dorian took that as a small victory. "They can't know… What would they think of me?"
"No one expects you to be perfect, amatus," Dorian murmured. "You're doing the best you can."
"And it's still not good enough," the elf replied bitterly.
"It's more than good enough," Dorian insisted. "You're mad if you think anyone could do better. Look how many people you've helped, how many people you've saved."
"And how many people I've sent to their deaths."
Aldaron would simply not allow himself to be comforted, Dorian thought in frustration. What had happened to give him such a low sense of self-worth? "They all knew it was possible going in," Dorian said. "Stroud, your soldiers, they all knew what they were signing up for. You can't save everyone, and no one is asking you to."
"I'm not cut out for leadership, Dorian," Aldaron whimpered.
"I disagree," Dorian said. "The people here, they adore you. I—," the words caught in his throat again and Dorian cursed himself. That was exactly what Aldaron needed to hear right now, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. So instead he just leaned down and pressed his lips against Aldaron's and tried to convey in actions all the words he couldn't bring himself to say. He wasn't thinking about how half the army could see them if they happened to look the right way, Aldaron's peace of mind was more important than some silly rumors. Besides, if certain people were to be believed then everyone already knew what was going on between them and nothing bad had come of it yet.
When they parted Aldaron was blushing a little bit and he didn't look like he was going to cry anymore. "Thank you…" he murmured softly, for what Dorian wasn't sure, but he let his hands fall away from Aldaron's face. "We really do need to leave, though. You should see that your things are packed."
"Of course," Dorian replied. "Although you should know my other robes are positively ruined. Demon blood is so hard to get out."
Aldaron smiled. The tiniest quirk of the corner of his mouth, there for only a second before it disappeared again. After all the fear and sadness the night before, however, the sight made Dorian's heart soar. "I'll buy you new ones," he promised softly.
It took over a week to get back to Skyhold, the company's pace slowed to accommodate wounded soldiers and the caravans of supplies that followed the troops. The Inquisitor and his inner circle could probably have moved on ahead of the main force, but Aldaron was disinclined to do so.
Since walking out of the Fade Aldaron had not slept for more than an hour or two any night. He was exhausted both physically and emotionally. Despite crawling into Dorian's tent each night to try and distract himself with strong arms and soft lips more often than not he found himself lying awake, staring at the ceiling and listening to Dorian's soft breathing in his ear until the sun began to leak in through the fabric. If he did manage to fall asleep it didn't last long. Nightmarish memories haunted his dreams: the dull greenish tint of everything in the Fade, the smell of sulfur and decay, a massive creature with too many legs and too many eyes – Stroud, lying dead and mangled in a new horrific way each night, if there was even anything of him left at all. He woke in a cold sweat, with a scream on his lips. The terrors had woken Dorian on more than one occasion, and the man was now sporting bruises caused by Aldaron's panicked flailing. As though he needed more things to feel guilty about.
Aldaron was glad to be back at Skyhold however. Here there were more things to distract himself with, work he could drown himself in to try and forget. And maybe a proper bed would help sleep come more easily.
The bed didn't help, nor the fact that he was alone in it. Aldaron woke in the middle of the night terrified and alone and he was halfway down the stairs before he realized he wasn't actually certain where Dorian's quarters were and that he probably shouldn't be running around the castle in nothing but his nightclothes anyway. Besides, Dorian would probably appreciate a night of uninterrupted sleep, and he was unlikely to get that as long as he shared a bed with Aldaron. At least until the nightmares stopped. Creators, he hoped they would stop. What would happen if they didn't? Dorian was right to worry; he couldn't go on like this for long, barely sleeping.
Bare feet cold on the stone floor, Aldaron trudged back up the stairs. He stood for a long moment staring at the bed, but knew he wouldn't be able to sleep again that night. Grabbing a blanket to wrap around himself against the chill from the balcony door he always left open Aldaron settled at his desk, lit a candle, and drowned himself in reports. He stayed there until the sun was up and managed to read through every scrap of paper that had piled up while he was away.
They would be serving breakfast in the main hall soon, but Aldaron did not have much of an appetite. Lately he'd been eating almost as infrequently as he slept. It was a bad combination, he knew that, but could not bring himself to care. Everything felt so hopeless and miserable now. He was so exhausted.
Eventually, when the sun had risen fully, Aldaron rose from his seat and forced himself to face the day. He dressed and attempted to make himself presentable. Although the Inquisitor had never been vain – did not care about the state of his hair or the fashion of his clothes – even he had to admit he didn't look good. There were dark circles under his eyes from a week of sleepless nights, unlikely to disappear any time soon. He couldn't hide those or wave away concerns for much longer before people stopped believing his excuses. Maybe there was a way to cover them up; some shemlen cosmetic like the noblewomen caked themselves in. The idea itself was repulsive, but the Inquisitor had to keep up appearances.
Dorian would probably know. The man always looked immaculate. Breakfast would be over by now, which meant the mage would probably be in the library. And Dorian thought he was predictable.
Aldaron combed through his hair with his fingers as he headed down from his tower room, taming the wild locks into some semblance of order before he emerged into the main hall. Forced smiles and polite greetings as he made his way across the hall, gone as soon as the door was shut behind him and he mounted the stairs up toward the library. And there he was, staring at the shelves with a frown and a look of deep concentration.
"Good morning," Aldaron greeted as he approached so as not to startle the man too badly.
"You have remarkably little here on early Tevinter history," Dorian said by way of a greeting. Aldaron had learned not to be offended when the man found his research more interesting than quite literally anything else in the world. When he got wrapped up in something Dorian could often think of little else. "All these 'gifts' to the Inquisition and the best they can do is the Malefica Imperio? Trite propaganda. But if you want twenty volumes on whether Divine Galatea took a shit on Sunday, this is evidently the place to find it." He sounded annoyed. Aldaron didn't spend a lot of time in the library (really any time at all unless he was talking to someone there), but he wasn't surprised to learn it was full of Chantry literature.
Unfamiliar with the library though he was, helping Dorian with his research sounded like a great way to keep his mind off of his troubles. "If I knew what you were looking for I could help," he offered.
"You?" Dorian looked over at him and very nearly sneered, "I rather doubt it." Aldaron actually took a step away in surprise, shocked that Dorian would say such a thing. So he didn't read much, or at all, but he'd never had need to before the Inquisition. And just because he wasn't a bookworm like Dorian didn't mean he couldn't help. Didn't mean he was stupid. Did Dorian think he was stupid? But the man seemed to realize what he'd done as soon as he saw the hurt lining Aldaron's face and he sighed, "I apologize, that was unworthy." Somehow it didn't sound all that sincere, and Dorian was immediately turning back toward the shelves, mumbling to himself, "I did see something by Genitivi here? I could have sworn…"
It was about as clear a dismissal as Aldaron had ever gotten, and the elf found himself rather offended. If Dorian didn't want his help he could just say so. There was no need to brush him off like he was some sort of illiterate savage. He got enough of that from the nobles he had to deal with; he didn't need it from his lover as well. "What is this about Dorian?"
Dorian sighed again and his shoulders slumped. "When we fell into the chasm, into the Fade… I thought you were done for," he said, and closed his eyes as he took in a steadying breath, "I don't know if I can forgive you for that moment."
"Forgive me?" Aldaron asked, still annoyed by the man's early words so that he didn't quite grasp the weight of these. "You were right there with me the entire time."
"For making me think you were dead!" Dorian snapped and rounded on him. But as soon as he was looking at Aldaron the anger bled out of him. "You sent me ahead and then didn't follow. For just a moment, I was certain you wouldn't. I thought: 'This is it. This is where I finally lose him forever'. Are you… alright?"
Dorian had to have asked him that a dozen times by now, but Aldaron always dodged the question. He didn't want to talk about it, he didn't want to remember. He'd been so wrapped up in his own grief and fear that he didn't stop to think about Dorian. He had never asked how Dorian was feeling, if Dorian was alright. He had assumed, foolishly, that because the man didn't look upset that he was fine. Now he realized how much of a selfish idiot he had been. Aldaron's behavior over the past week – crawling to Dorian for comfort and distraction and never giving any in return – had been unfair to the man. He'd ignored him and snapped at him and used him and screamed and cried and through it all Dorian just kept asking if he was alright. When Aldaron realized he'd never given a straight answer he felt ashamed. Dorian only wanted to know he was safe, and Aldaron had been nothing but an ass to him.
"It…" he began quietly, hesitantly. Dorian deserved the truth, not Aldaron's insecurity translated into anger. "It was like walking in a nightmare, but everything was real. I couldn't…" His voice cracked and he stopped. He would not have another breakdown here in the library where so many other people could see it. He wasn't alright. He was so far from alright.
"Ah, it's as I thought," Dorian murmured, and his voice was gentle, sympathetic. "The Fade is an ordeal under normal circumstances. To be the only real thing there… Beyond description." So it had bothered him after all, that was reassuring in some small way. "That any of us made it out alive is difficult to believe. That you made it out? A miracle. You do realize this feat hasn't been performed in over a thousand years?" Dorian continued as though he were giving a lecture instead of having a conversation. "Corypheus and his contemporaries entered the Fade and began the blights. In comparison…"
In comparison? Aldaron didn't want to be compared to Corypheus in any way. "That's not exactly comforting, Dorian," Aldaron said in dismay. Yes, he was glad they hadn't unleashed another endless plague upon the world, but that was a very low bar for judging success.
"Nor should it be," Dorian said seriously. "If you can walk in the Fade others will try to follow. Who knows what secrets Corypheus has revealed? Not everyone will be as lucky as you. What they could unleash…" he shook his head, dismissing the thought. It wasn't something Aldaron wanted to think of, either. Walking physically through the Fade had been bad enough, he didn't want to think of how much worse it could have been. "My advice? Keep this quiet. Let them speculate. Too many will see this as a challenge."
Aldaron nodded slowly, realizing that Dorian was right. "I agree." There were too many holes in the sky already.
"There are enough idiots in the world who think if they just use enough blood magic, their problems will vanish," Dorian said despairingly. "It's exactly the sort of thing I want to stop back home. This… this I don't need," he shook his head and turned back to the bookshelf he'd been perusing when Aldaron arrived. "What I do need is a copy of the Liberalum. I'll wager I can find Corypheus' real name. If I can prove he was a grasping ankle-biter with no family to speak of? The luster would come right off," he turned to flash a grin in Aldaron's direction, "Wish me luck."
"Are you certain you don't want any help?" Aldaron asked hopefully. Maybe he would be useless at it, but he needed something to do.
"I'm more than capable of handling my own research," Dorian replied not unkindly. "And I'm certain you have enough work of your own. I know how the reports pile up while you're away."
"I finished those already," Aldaron admitted.
"Already?" Dorian asked in surprise, and turned back to Aldaron, "How could you-," he cut himself off as realization dawned on him, "You didn't sleep." It was not a question, but Aldaron looked away and his silence was enough confirmation. "More nightmares?" Dorian asked, voice low and quiet, conscious of Aldaron's desire to keep this secret.
"Yes," the elf replied just as quietly.
Dorian sighed and Aldaron did not look up to see the concern he knew would be on his face. "Shall I come see you tonight? Would that help?"
Probably not, but Aldaron couldn't help but want it anyway just so he wouldn't have to wake up alone. But that wasn't fair to Dorian. The man didn't deserve all the sleepless nights, the bruises. "I've robbed you of enough sleep already."
"Not nearly as much as you've lost yourself, I think," Dorian replied. "But that isn't what I asked."
"I don't know," Aldaron admitted, looking everywhere but at Dorian's face. It was hard to admit even to his lover that he felt weak, lost, incapable. He was supposed to be strong, supposed to be a leader. Dorian's presence, while a comfort in the aftermath of a nightmare, had done nothing so far to keep them at bay. So why continue inflicting himself upon the man? "I don't know if anything will help."
"Have you considered speaking to Solas?" Dorian asked. "He is rather an expert on dreams. He might know some way to stop these nightmares."
"No," Aldaron said more fiercely than he had intended. "I don't want anyone else to know." It was bad enough that Dorian knew, and he trusted Dorian more than anyone else. The others… He was afraid of what they would think if they saw how frightened he had been, how frightened he still was. They would loose all respect for him, of that he was certain.
"Alright," Dorian said placatingly, "It was only a suggestion. You're welcome to stay here if you like, but I'm certain you'll find it terribly boring. Not nearly enough trees and small woodland creatures for you, I think."
It was rather painfully stuffy in here. Did none of these windows open? Aldaron considered inviting Dorian to do his research elsewhere, somewhere with sunlight and fresh air, but no, the man would just wind up running back and forth for new books every few minutes. "You're probably right," he was forced to admit.
"I'm always right," Dorian replied with a grin, "One of these days you'll figure that out."
The Inquisitor did hang around for a little while. He fetched books and flipped through pages without appearing to read them, he yawned occasionally and looked out the window every few minutes like clockwork. Eventually Dorian had to say that he was more of a distraction than a help and politely shooed the elf out of the library, suggesting that he go check on all the rest of his followers or stab some practice dummies or climb a tree. Aldaron had rolled his eyes at that last suggestion and complained that he really didn't spend that much time in trees.
"Yes, I only find you in one every other day when we're on the road, and every third when we're back here," Dorian had replied, with only mild exaggeration. "For someone who is clearly part squirrel you spend remarkably little time in trees."
The elf pouted a little, but left in a better mood than he had arrived, Dorian thought. He hoped someone else would have a task to occupy his wayward lover. And they must have, because Dorian didn't see the Inquisitor again until dinner. They ate, as usual, with several of the Inquisitor's closest companions and Aldaron's mood did seem much improved. He chatted, he smiled – the real one, crooked and beautiful – and Dorian was relieved. Maybe the fear was passing now that things were back to normal.
As normal as they ever got for the Inquisition, anyway.
But that didn't stop Dorian from letting himself into the Inquisitor's quarters later that evening and coaxing the skittish elf into bed. He might cost himself a few hours of sleep or another nasty bruise if Aldaron had a particularly violent nightmare, but he would rather be here than make Aldaron face that nightmare alone.
Dorian was awoken by a sharp pain in his ribs and a scream in his ear. He bolted upright, instinctively looking for the danger before his mind was even properly aware of his surroundings. When he came fully awake it took only a second for him to react. "Aldaron," he breathed, and turned toward the man beside him, tangled in the sheets and face twisted in agony. The elf was still asleep, struggling against imaginary demons he could not escape. "Amatus," he said, louder this time, and reached out for him. Aldaron flung out an arm that nearly hit Dorian in the face. He grabbed both of the elf's wrists and pinned them to the mattress in an attempt to subdue his flailing. "Aldaron," he called, and then again louder, "Aldaron." With his arms restrained, the elf kicked ineffectively, legs too tangled in the sheets to do any real harm. "Amatus, wake up," Dorian called desperately. "Aldaron!"
The elf jolted awake with a gasping cry and struggled a moment more against the hands restraining him until his wide eyes were able to focus on Dorian's face and he fell slack, panting heavily.
"It's alright," Dorian murmured, slowly releasing Aldaron's arms and relaxing. "You're alright. Just a dream." His own heart was thundering in his chest, tight with concern and adrenaline. The Inquisitor was a ferocious fighter, even in his sleep.
Aldaron's breathing slowly grew steadier and his eyes never left Dorian's face. "Dorian," he breathed his name like a prayer.
"I'm here," the mage replied. "You're safe."
"Dorian," Aldaron breathed again, his voice more choked this time. His brows knit upward and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. Then he rolled onto his side and covered his face with his hands, pulling his knees up toward his chest.
Despite having dealt with this nearly every night since they walked out of the Fade, Dorian felt no better equipped to deal with it. He lay down again, facing his lover, and reached out to hold him as best he could when Aldaron was curled in on himself like this. He stroked the elf's hair softly, combing out the ever-present tangles with his fingers.
"I just want it to stop," Aldaron choked out in a whisper after simply laying there in silence for a while. His voice was thick with tears, but Dorian couldn't tell if he was actually crying or not. "I'm so tired, Dorian."
"I know," Dorian replied. He wanted it to stop as well. They couldn't go on like this. Aldaron couldn't go on like this. The stress, the fear, the sleepless nights. How long could he function like this before his body simply gave out? He'd been too optimistic at dinner. He'd told Aldaron to go distract himself and it had worked for a while, but now here they were again, right back where they started.
Eventually Aldaron uncurled himself, wiped at his eyes and let Dorian pull him close again. "I'm sorry," he whispered softly. "Did I hurt you again?"
Dorian would probably have a bruise in the morning, Aldaron's elbows were rather lethal, and so he couldn't deny it. "I've had worse, I'm sure," he said instead, trying to brush it off.
"I'm sorry," Aldaron murmured again, "You shouldn't have to put up with me… I've been such an ass to you lately."
"What?" Dorian asked, honestly confused. When had Aldaron been an ass? Certainly no time that Dorian could remember. His behavior over the past week and a half had been confusing and distressing, but never cruel. "Nonsense. You've been a delight."
"You don't have to lie to me," Aldaron insisted. "I know I've been miserable, and I've taken it all out on you. It's not fair… I'm sorry."
"Amatus…" Dorian sighed softly. He supposed he could have turned the elf away when he crawled into his tent that first night, but he hadn't wanted to. Not that night or any of the ones following it regardless of the disruptions to his sleep, of the inadequacy he felt trying to comfort Aldaron. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be." This was where he needed to be, and he found he didn't even particularly care anymore if other people knew about them. He only wished he could actually do something to help.
"Thank you," Aldaron breathed, and held him tighter.