After days of spending his nights lying awake in bed while Dorian slept soundly at his side Aldaron was becoming intimately familiar with the man's sleeping habits.
If they weren't distracted by other activities, the man tended to stay up late reading whatever book had caught his interest that day. If asked, he would read aloud to Aldaron. Though the elf found most of Dorian's books terribly confusing it was nice just to hear his voice until Dorian eventually fell asleep. He had learned that Dorian was a clingy sleeper who would wrap himself around Aldaron like a second blanket if the elf wasn't already wrapped around him. Or maybe that was just a defense against the cold. Autumn had arrived in the Frostbacks and the air was getting colder. The breeze that crept in through the open balcony door was enough to make even Aldaron shiver at times, and Dorian complained about it constantly. He would have to learn to deal with closed doors at night by the time winter arrived, but that wasn't something he felt up to at the moment.
The Inquisitor's ability to sleep through the night had not improved, although his ability to function throughout the day on little to no sleep had improved by leaps and bounds. Lying awake for hours every night with nothing to do but listen to Dorian's breathing and stare at the rafters also left him with plenty of time to think.
He knew almost the moment that Dorian woke up. The change in his breathing, the way he burrowed deeper into the blankets against the morning chill. Aldaron waited a moment, to see if he would fall back asleep, and then spoke up softly. "Dorian… Are you awake?"
"No," came the reply mumbled into a pillow.
"I've been thinking," Aldaron murmured, ignoring the blatant lie. He had been thinking about this for hours, and needed to say it out loud. "I need to kill a dragon."
There was a long silence before Dorian spoke again; so long Aldaron thought maybe he did fall back asleep. "I must still be asleep because I think you just said you want to kill a dragon," his voice was still rough and mumbled from sleep.
"I did," Aldaron confirmed.
That woke Dorian up. He opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows to look down at Aldaron. The expression on his face clearly said that he thought Aldaron had gone insane. "Why?"
Aldaron had an answer for this. He'd been practicing it in his head for the past hour because he knew Dorian wouldn't be happy. "Corypheus has control of that dragon… archdemon… whatever. Eventually someone will have to deal with it, and it's probably going to be me. But I don't know how to kill a dragon, so… I need to do it… For practice." It had sounded better in his head.
"For practice," Dorian repeated in disbelief. "And where do you plan to find this dragon?"
"Our agents have been keeping an eye on the one in Crestwood," Aldaron continued immediately. "It hasn't been causing any trouble, but it should be dealt with. Dragon that close to a town is too dangerous."
"You've clearly thought this through very carefully," Dorian commented, and he didn't sound very happy. Aldaron had expected that. "I suppose there's no talking you out of it, then?"
Aldaron shook his head silently. At Adamant when that dragon had appeared he'd been terrified. He had no idea how to fight something that large. There were probably tactics and strategies to consider, but he didn't know them. And even if he had, knowing and doing were two different things. "You don't have to come," he said. He would be disappointed if Dorian stayed behind, but he would not blame him. Aldaron himself didn't particularly want to fight a dragon, but he felt like he needed to.
Dorian scoffed and flopped back down onto the pillows, "After what you did last time I let you out of my sight I really don't think that's an option. Besides, you would be lost without me."
"I would," Aldaron agreed, and leaned over to kiss his cheek. More than Dorian knew.
"Oh, flattery! Do continue," Dorian grinned, "Are you going to tell me how handsome and talented I am? How invaluable my contribution to the Inquisition?"
"If you already know then I don't need to tell you," Aldaron replied, but smiled a little bit as well.
"It never hurts to hear it again," Dorian protested, "We don't all have hundreds of followers falling over themselves to sing our praises."
"Shall I ask Maryden to write you a song?" Aldaron asked.
"Maker, please no," Dorian blanched in horror.
"Varric, then?" Aldaron suggested.
"If those are my only two options then I think I would rather be forgotten to history," Dorian grumbled.
Aldaron let out a short breathy chuckle, amazed by how easily Dorian was able to lighten his mood. He really wasn't sure what he would do without this man at his side, patiently supporting him through everything. But now Dorian was staring at him in wonder and the smile faded from Aldaron's face as he shifted self-consciously. "What?"
Very slowly a grin spread across Dorian's face, "I do believe that's the first time I've heard you laugh," he said, and it was Aldaron's turn to be shocked. That couldn't be true, could it? Surely he had… No, maybe he hadn't. Aldaron couldn't actually remember the last time he'd laughed. Suddenly Dorian bowled him over, rolling a startled Aldaron onto his back and straddling his hips. "Do it again," he said, grinning down at the elf.
"I can't just laugh on command," Aldaron protested. He'd never seen Dorian this excited. At least not about anything other than new books or new clothes.
Dorian's grin faded momentarily into a look of thoughtful concentration, and then returned devious and sly. "Then you leave me no other choice. I wonder… Is the Inquisitor ticklish?"
"No," Aldaron breathed in muted horror. He tried to squirm away from Dorian, but short of throwing the man off him there wasn't much he could do. "No no no," he tried to swat Dorian's hands away as they moved toward his sides, but the man was persistent. The first laugh came out as more of a startled shriek, Aldaron's body flinched away instinctively and he clapped both hands over his mouth in embarrassment. Dorian paused for the briefest moment, then grinned deviously and let his fingers run up Aldaron's sides. The elf quickly dissolved into a fit of laughter, squirming as he tried weakly to push Dorian's hands away. "Stop," he begged breathlessly, gasping through the laughter as Dorian continued, "Dorian…" A moment longer and the man finally pulled his hands away. Relieved, Aldaron fell limp against the sheets, breathing heavily, but grinning from ear to ear and feeling more relaxed and happy than he remembered being in a long time. It felt good.
When his breathing had calmed down a little Aldaron opened his eyes slowly to find Dorian beaming down at him with a look of such pure adoration that the elf had to look away again. His heart was racing now for a completely different reason. He was still looking away when Dorian leaned down and kissed his cheek, mustache tickling the side of his nose. "Maker, you're magnificent," he breathed into Aldaron's ear, sending a shiver down the elf's spine.
"You're much better at flattery than I am," Aldaron replied, shyly looking back at Dorian as the man pulled away again.
"I won't hold it against you," Dorian promised. "Very few people are so talented."
"You clearly don't need my flattery anyway," Aldaron observed.
"You wound me," Dorian gasped in mock dismay. "I'll have to torture you again."
The man wiggled his fingers threateningly, and Aldaron wasn't sure he could handle a second assault so soon. "If you tickle me again I'll tell everyone what your hair looks like in the morning," the elf said quickly.
The tactic worked, and Dorian froze, immediately moving a hand to smooth down his sleep-disheveled hair. "You've been sworn to secrecy about the state of my hair in the morning," he complained. "I have a reputation to maintain of being flawlessly gorgeous at all times."
Aldaron rolled his eyes. He thought Dorian looked gorgeous at all times regardless of the state of his hair. "I like your hair this way," Aldaron soothed, reaching up to run his fingers through it.
"You would," Dorian scoffed, but to his credit didn't stop Aldaron from messing up his hair further. "I imagine it resembles the mess on your own head. Do you even own a comb?"
"Maybe," Aldaron shrugged innocently.
Dorian groaned, "Barbarians, the lot of you," he complained, and gently took Aldaron's wrists to push the elf's hands away from his head. "Now," he said slowly, seriously, "Tell me why you really want to fight a dragon."
The smile that had been on Aldaron's face since he'd first started laughing faded and his brow furrowed in confusion. "I told you," he said hesitantly.
"You told me a very well thought out and logical and reasonable explanation for why you suddenly want to become a dragon hunger," Dorian said, "An explanation I imagine you've been lying here thinking about since midnight. What's the real reason?"
Aldaron should have known Dorian wouldn't totally believe his lie. Well, half-lie. It was necessary training. Probably. But Dorian was right, it wasn't the real reason. He looked to the side, ashamed and certain that Dorian would be even more unhappy when he heard the truth. "I'm tired of being scared all the time," he admitted quietly.
"And killing a dragon will help?" Dorian asked. He didn't sound angry, much to Aldaron's surprise. He sounded concerned and confused.
"Maybe?" Aldaron shrugged again. "It can't hurt."
"I imagine it will hurt a great deal," Dorian grumbled, "Have you seen the size of those things? It would eat you whole."
"I have to do something!" Aldaron snapped, and the immediately regretted losing his temper. "I'm sorry."
Dorian sighed and climbed off of Aldaron to lie down beside him again. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean… I'm just concerned about you."
"I know," Aldaron said, and rolled onto his side to face Dorian. "But I don't want to be afraid of everything anymore. I can't hide in Skyhold forever."
"And your first thought is to go fight the largest and most dangerous thing in the world short of Corypheus himself?" Dorian asked. "How is that meant to help?"
That Aldaron did not know how to explain. It didn't even make sense to him why throwing himself into danger so similar to what haunted his dreams would possibly help. But he was tired of sitting around feeling sorry for himself. That definitely wouldn't make anything better. "I… The other day The Iron Bull wanted me to hit him with a stick because he was afraid of demons," Aldaron began hesitantly. He watched Dorian's eyebrows climb up toward his hairline, the mage looked like he wanted to say something, but managed to remain silent so Aldaron continued. "I didn't understand why, he couldn't explain it, but I guess it worked." Aldaron paused a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. "The first time I saw a demon I was so terrified I couldn't do anything. I just froze. But… After I killed one, after I saw that it was possible, that they die just like everything else if you stab them enough, they weren't so frightening anymore." He wasn't making sense at all; had no idea where he was going with this story. He knew how he felt but he couldn't explain it, he lacked the proper words. Aldaron sighed in frustration. "I don't know how to explain it," he said eventually, giving up. "Just trust me, Dorian."
"Alright," the mage relented with a sigh. Aldaron could tell he still wasn't happy, but he was grateful that Dorian wasn't arguing anymore. "When do we leave on this suicide mission, then?"
"I don't know. I still have to ask around, see who else is willing to come," Aldaron said. "But hopefully we can leave by tomorrow."
"So soon?" Dorian asked in surprise.
"Before I loose my nerve," Aldaron offered him a weak smile. It certainly wasn't the most ideal plan, but he had high hopes. Kill enough dragons and surely nothing would be frightening anymore. Not even nightmares.
This was quite obviously the worst idea that Aldaron had ever had. Fight a dragon. What sort of person thought that was a good idea? The Inquisitor, apparently. And The Iron Bull. And Sera. In fact, Dorian seemed to be the only person here who realized what a terrible idea this was.
Well, the dragon certainly wasn't happy about any of this, either. Dorian was just glad he was able to stand back, but he kept losing sight of Aldaron as the elf dodged between legs the size of tree trunks, spun out of the way of claws as long as his arm, slipped under tail and wings and sliced into flesh whenever there was an opening.
It was terrifying and exhilarating.
And actually he could see why people did this for fun.
Nerve wracking though it was every time the dragon turned its gaze on him, or every time he lost sight of his lover among the beast's limbs, the adrenaline rush was something else. And when the massive creature was brought down – wings torn and bleeding, one forelimb unable to support its weight, roaring in pain and fury as Bull lodged his axe in its neck – he was marginally disappointed that it was over.
And they were all alive. They killed a dragon, and they were all still alive. Dorian actually laughed aloud because that was such a ridiculous thought, and yet here they were. Sera was already running forward, no doubt to kick the poor beast's carcass or something equally childish. Dorian made his way down toward the corpse at a more dignified pace, but he was rather fascinated to see the thing up close. Very few people had the opportunity to see a dragon up close.
"Dorian!" The mage had been to busy staring at the corpse in fascination, and was startled by Aldaron's sudden shout. He looked up to see the Inquisitor running toward him around the curve of the dragon's now-limp tail. The elf was covered head to toe in blood and dirt and things that Dorian would rather not think about. But he was grinning; eyes alight and clearly unbothered by the filth that covered him.
"No, no, no," Dorian breathed in horror when he realized what Aldaron intended, and he held his arms up to hold his lover back. "No hugs!" the elf slowed to a stop in front of him and looked confused. "You're filthy!"
Aldaron looked down at himself as though realizing this for the first time. And maybe he was, the elf always seemed to get himself covered in something unsanitary. When he raised his gaze again he was grinning innocently, "I found an artery," he explained, and wiped the back of his hand across his face, which only served to smear the blood more across his cheek. Disgusting. "But we did it, Dorian!"
Dorian wasn't sure he had ever seen Aldaron smile this much before. He was practically vibrating with excitement. It was almost painful not to embrace him, but just once Dorian would like to leave Skyhold and not completely ruin all of his clothes. Just once. "We did," he confirmed, and offered Aldaron a smile of his own. "You're not hurt?"
The Inquisitor shook his head, still grinning. "But…" the smile slipped a bit and he reached up to take one of the daggers from his back, "I broke my knife." Sure enough, the blade that he showed Dorian was snapped clean off a few inches from the hilt. "It got stuck in a bone, I think."
If Dorian wasn't mistaken he'd been using those same daggers since becoming Inquisitor, the previous ones lost at Haven, and was rather attached to them. "I'm certain Harritt will be happy to make you new ones," Dorian assured him. "Perhaps out of all this dragon bone," he added, gesturing to their vanquished foe, "Then you won't have to worry about it next time."
"Next time?" Aldaron asked, grin back in place and eyes wide with hope.
Dorian sighed. "Not that I'm encouraging you to become a dragon hunter," he insisted quickly. "But perhaps this didn't go quite as badly as I'd feared."
"You had fun," Aldaron teased.
"Nonsense," Dorian denied haughtily. "Don't mistake me for one of you bloodthirsty savages. I'm only here to make sure you don't get your fool self eaten."
Aldaron chuckled softly and Dorian's heart flipped in his chest. Still such a rare sound, but surely a sign that his lover was improving. "Dorian can I kiss you?" the elf asked suddenly. "I won't get any blood on your clothes I promise."
Dorian looked down at his lover, at the hopeful look in his eyes and the stupid grin on his face, and even covered in filth he was gorgeous. How could he possibly deny Aldaron anything when he looked like that? He wanted so bad to keep him looking this happy forever. The only people here to see them already knew about their relationship and didn't seem to care, so what was stopping him other than concern for his wardrobe? "Oh, alright," he relented with a long-suffering sigh to cover up the skipping of his heart, and leaned down to kiss his giddy lover. It lasted only a moment before they were quite rudely interrupted by a loud whistle, followed by a series of catcalls that turned Dorian's face red and caused him to pull away quickly. From several feet away Sera and Bull were leering at them, then Bull made a decidedly filthy hand gesture that made Dorian's cheeks turn even redder. "Oh mind your own business!" he snapped and turned away in a huff to begin trudging back to the fort. But Aldaron's laughter was still ringing in his ears so it was difficult to be too angry.
The trip back to Skyhold was uneventful and filled with campfire reenactments of their fight (performed mostly by Sera with Bull as the dragon). Aldaron smiled easily, and laughed on occasion, and that made it incredibly difficult for Dorian to be annoyed by the constant ribbing of their companions about their relationship.
But although Aldaron smiled and laughed during the day, he still did not sleep. He was awake at Dorian's side when the man fell asleep at night, and there still when Dorian woke again. Sometimes he was snuggled close to Dorian, holding him tight with eyes closed though he had never fallen asleep. At other times he was sitting up, restlessly sharpening his one remaining dagger or mending a hole in his leathers.
So killing a dragon hadn't cured him of his fears after all, not entirely. But it had done something. There was an obvious change.
The Inquisitor was smiling as they rode back into Skyhold, happily announcing the success of their mission to his awaiting advisors. Dorian parted ways with him in the courtyard to find himself a hot bath and change of clothes. Somewhere along the way Dorian realized he should be happy with any sort of progress from his lover. A smiling, laughing, happy Aldaron who couldn't sleep was still better than the miserable, paranoid Aldaron he'd known since Adamant. Baby steps, he told himself. He couldn't expect everything to get better overnight.
When he came downstairs for dinner the Inquisitor was nowhere to be found, and the word around the hall was that he'd joined some sort of celebration at the tavern, so that was where Dorian went, and that was where Dorian found him. The whole place was even more raucous than usual. Clearly everyone here considered dragon slaying a good excuse to get drunk, and Dorian couldn't disagree. He spotted the Inquisitor at the bar, seated beside The Iron Bull and listing heavily to one side.
"There you are!"
Dorian's voice cut through the fog of alcohol that had settled over Aldaron's mind. He looked up, and his face lit up like the mage was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. "Dorian!"
The man in question paused, stared at the elf, brow furrowed a little, and then smirked. "Are you drunk, Inquisitor?" he asked, highly amused.
"I can't feel my throat!" Aldaron announced happily. That was mildly concerning.
"That's how you know it's working," The Iron Bull guffawed, slammed his own empty tankard down on the bar.
"Drinking without me, I should be offended," Dorian sniffed, "And what swill has this brute been serving you?" He reached down and plucked the cup from Aldaron's fingers to sniff at the contents, then made a face. What was that smell? He couldn't even describe it, and it definitely shouldn't be attached to something edible.
"It's better when you can't taste it," Aldaron assured him, his words a little slurred.
"Or smell it, I imagine," Dorian replied, and set the cup back down. Then he slid into the seat beside Aldaron's and signaled the barkeep to bring him a drink as well. Something that wasn't whatever this was. He wasn't sure he could survive that. "It's not often the Inquisitor gets shitfaced, what's the occasion? What are we drinking to?"
"Dragons!" Bull roared, refilled his tankard and took another drink.
"Really bad drinks!" Aldaron laughed.
"It really is no fun being the least drunk person in the room," Dorian bemoaned as his own drink arrived. Ferelden beer. Charming. Well, if it was to be a night of 'really bad drinks' he was in good company.
"Dorian!" Aldaron said suddenly, and grabbed the man's hand, looking at him like he had news that would rock the foundations of the world. "I killed a dragon," he said very seriously.
Dorian laughed. "Yes, amatus, I know. I was there."
"A dragon, Dorian," Aldaron emphasized. "A huge one!" He gestured wildly in an attempt to indicate the dragon's size.
Dorian laughed again and looked down to find his cup empty, though he barely remembered drinking it. "It was very impressive," he replied. "We're all very impressed."
Aldaron beamed under the praise and raised his cup to his lips again. The drink sent him into a brief coughing fit and his eyes watered slightly. He had been leaning heavily on one arm, which Dorian realized was probably the only thing keeping up upright, but now moved to lean against Dorian's shoulder instead. Dorian tensed a moment, afraid of allowing such intimate contact with so many people around, but he couldn't very well push Aldaron off of him without sending the elf onto the floor.
"How many of those have you had?" Dorian asked in concern. Aldaron didn't have much alcohol tolerance to begin with, and whatever Bull had been plying him with was obviously strong.
"Uh…" Aldaron frowned, raised a hand before his face and began counting on his fingers. He reached four before seeming to reach an impasse. "This many?" he asked. Dorian wasn't sure if he'd forgotten the word 'four' or if he wasn't sure how many drinks.
"You might wanna get him to bed before he passes out here," the bartender advised wisely as he took away both Dorian and Aldaron's empty cups. Dorian might have protested in favor of getting himself properly drunk as well, but Aldaron had just put a hand on his thigh and turned his head just enough that Dorian could feel his breath hot against his neck. Bed sounded like a great idea. Sleep, less so, but definitely bed.
"Alright then," Dorian stood up carefully, a hand on Aldaron's shoulder to keep him from falling over. "Let's do this while you can still walk." The Inquisitor looked up at him in confusion, even as Dorian pulled the elf's arm around his shoulders to get him upright.
"Where are we going?" Aldaron asked, stumbling a little as Dorian pulled him away from the bar and began leading him through the crowd.
"Back to your rooms, Inquisitor," Dorian replied.
"To my… Oh!" Aldaron gasped animatedly, and then smiled to himself and wrapped his other arm around Dorian's shoulders as well. "You're coming too?"
"That is the idea, yes," Dorian confirmed, chuckling softly. He managed to lead Aldaron across the courtyard, up the stairs, and through the main hall with little difficulty, but by the time they reached the first door to the Inquisitor's quarters Aldaron was dragging his feet and his hands were beginning to wander. When the door was closed and they had a measure of privacy Aldaron stopped entirely and pulled Dorian down to kiss him. He tasted like whatever foul concoction he'd been drinking. "You'll be much more comfortable doing this in bed, amatus," Dorian said, reluctantly pulling away from the kiss and beginning to drag Aldaron toward the stairs. The elf whined in protest, but let Dorian continue to lead him the rest of the way up to his quarters.
"I think Bull wants to have sex with a dragon," Aldaron announced as they passed the last door to his quarters.
"There's an image I could have lived without," Dorian shuddered. "Can't say I'm surprised, though."
Aldaron giggled – actually giggled – and as soon as they reached the top of the stairs and the bed was in sight he seemed much more interested in walking. He grabbed Dorian by the collars of his shirt and kissed him again, stumbling over his feet and nearly bringing them both to the floor before they even made it to the bed, where he collapsed laughing into the pillows. "If that was your idea of seduction it needs some help," Dorian complained fondly.
"Come here," Aldaron demanded between stifled giggles, holding his arms out toward Dorian.
"As you command, Inquisitor," Dorian replied as he let Aldaron pull him down onto the bed.