It was two days before the Inquisitor was well enough to stand and walk on his own, another before he could do it for more than a few minutes at a time. By then it was decided that they had spent enough time with the Dalish clan and needed to move on.

Aldaron had enjoyed his few days with the elves. At least as much as he could while recovering from a life-threatening injury. He spent many of his waking hours talking to them in a mix of Elvish and Common that Dorian could only understand half the time. The children, in particular, seemed taken with him. Of course they were rather taken with all of the strange visitors. Dorian expected they had never seen a dwarf or a Qunari before. They would listen with rapt attention while Varric told highly embellished tales of the Inquisitor's many exploits and then run over to Aldaron, excited voices tumbling over each other in a flurry of words Dorian couldn't even hope to follow. He was good with the children, to Dorian's surprise, patiently answering their dozens of questions and denying only the most outlandish of Varric's lies. It was not something he had expected, though perhaps he should have. Aldaron was young himself, no more than a few years older than the eldest of these bare-faced youths. Dorian also remembered his lover telling him once of a younger sister.

When The Iron Bull returned to the Dalish camp it was with more than just their mounts in tow. He'd also brought a portion of the supplies that Aldaron had promised, healing herbs and a small amount of building supplies. The Inquisitor's red hart was an immediate source of interest. Rare, apparently, and so much larger than the halla. The Bull himself was almost an equal source of curiosity. Some of the children stared openly but most seemed too frightened of his size and his horns to approach. A few of the more daring ones approached after a day when it became more clear that though the Qunari was large and intimidating and loud he was actually very nice.

Dorian, on the other hand, was still being quietly shunned. He was used to it – half of Skyhold still glared at him suspiciously wherever he went – and wasn't offended, but it was irritating. If the elves were suspicious of him he couldn't blame them, but all this time he had barely left Aldaron's side and yet all those who came to fawn over him said not a word to Dorian. Honestly, it was just rude. He could be perfectly polite when the need arose, but by the way they glared you'd think he was about to slap them all in chain for shipment back to the Imperium. (Actually if they thought one man could bring about the ruin of their entire clan he should probably take that as a compliment.)

That the true nature of his relationship with the Inquisitor was now apparently common knowledge likely wasn't helping his case. Of course that was entirely Aldaron's fault. The Inquisitor wanted to sleep under the stars (more likely he didn't want to go back in that wagon) and in his current state Dorian wasn't about to leave him unattended outside in the middle of the night. That meant Dorian was also sleeping under the stars. Joy of joys. That lead to the rather unpleasant experience of waking up damp with dew, tangled up with Aldaron so badly he wasn't certain where his own arm was, and with The Iron Bull grinning down at him with barely restrained laughter.

"Aww, you two are adorable," the Qunari chuckled.

"Sugere verpa," Dorian grumbled in reply and flashed the mercenary a rude gesture. It only proved to make the Bull laugh louder as he walked away.

Maker, he hated camping.

"S'it morning?" Aldaron's voice mumbled from somewhere near Dorian's shoulder. The brief exchange must have been enough to wake him.

"Unfortunately," the mage replied.

"Did you curse at Bull?" the Inquisitor asked, still half asleep.

"He deserved it," Dorian muttered.

Aldaron's only reply was a noncommittal grunt before he slowly disentangled them enough to raise his head and press a kiss to Dorian's lips. A kiss that Dorian pulled away from rather quickly. No sense in making these elves hate him even more by flaunting the relationship they clearly disapproved of. Aldaron noticed and frowned. Usually he wouldn't attempt such a public display of affection – well aware of Dorian's insecurities – but perhaps he didn't consider this public. With a sigh that made Dorian feel guilty, the Inquisitor pulled away from him and sat up. "I was hoping we could get an early start today," he commented, stretching his arms to the sky. The movement made his shirt rise up, revealing the new scar, a thin line just above his left hip. Only when he lowered his arms again and the mark was covered was Dorian able to tear his eyes away. "Get back to camp and see what we've missed."

"You talk as though we're coming back from holiday," Dorian said.

"It was a nice break," Aldaron replied, and looked over his shoulder at Dorian as the man finally sat up.

"A nice break, he says," Dorian scoffed, "You almost died."

"I'm fine now, Dorian," the elf said with a sigh. "Honestly, you can stop worrying."

Dorian knew he had been hounding the point, but Aldaron really didn't seem to have taken the incident seriously. He had no idea how terrified Dorian had been watching him bleed out on the ground and helpless to do anything about it. He really needed to learn more healing magic if this was going to become a habit. "Are you saying it won't ever happen again?"

"No," Aldaron frowned, and began pulling his boots on, "You know I can't promise that."

He did know that, but the knowledge didn't make it any easier to bear. This was the third time now he had watched Aldaron cheat death. How many more time could he do that before his luck ran out? Dorian spoke flippantly about how one or both of them might die, but the reality of it terrified him. It was so easy to forget that Aldaron was mortal like the rest of them, impossible to imagine that the Herald of Andraste could be taken down by anything less than Corypheus himself.

When he had his boots on Aldaron turned back to Dorian and stared at him for a moment. "Why are you still upset?" he asked, and he sounded like he honestly didn't understand. "Because I got hurt protecting you? I'm not going to apologize for that, Dorian. I'm not sorry, and I would do it again."

That was part of the problem, wasn't it? Dorian wasn't important in the grand scheme of things, if he died the world would go on without him. Without Aldaron, though… Well, they had seen what would happen without the Inquisitor. "You should care more for your own life," Dorian protested, "You're the one that matters. I'm only the adornment upon your arm."

Aldaron's frown deepened, "You know you're more than that to me," he protested.

And there was the crux of the problem. "You shouldn't care more about me than the fate of the world. It'll go on without me. You, on the other hand…"

"Yes, everyone is very fond of reminding me how important I am, I haven't forgotten," Aldaron said sharply. He turned away from Dorian then and began pulling on the rest of his armor. "They still don't need me at all, just this thing," he grumbled and waved his marked hand in Dorian's direction. "Presumably it'll still work even if it's not attached to me."

"You can't possibly still think you're not important," Dorian was aghast. He thought they'd been through this.

"What does it matter?" Aldaron asked without looking at him.

"It matters because you matter," Dorian argued. "You're more than that mark. It's not why you're Inquisitor. It's why Corypheus wants to kill you, yes, but it's not why people follow you."

"Fine, I'm important to the world," the elf finally admitted begrudgingly, "But you're important to me." The statement gave Dorian pause, and Aldaron finally turned his gaze back toward him. Softened now, all the defensiveness bled out of him. "I would have gone mad ages ago if it weren't for you."

"I haven't…" Dorian began to protest that really he'd been quite useless at the whole support and comfort thing, but then Aldaron's hands were on his face, lips pressing softly against his own and effectively silencing him.

"You've done more than you know," Aldaron murmured. "I can't promise you I won't get hurt again, and I'm not sorry for protecting you or anyone else. It's in my nature to protect what I care about, Dorian."

"True," Dorian murmured in response. It was part of what made him a good leader - always looking out for those under him, trying to keep everyone safe. "Would you at least be a bit more careful?"

"I can try," Aldaron promised. "We are at war."

"I suppose that's the best I can ask for," Dorian was forced to concede. That didn't make it any easier to watch Aldaron fling himself into danger. And that was a lot harder than he was willing to admit. Varric had ribbed him about crying when the Inquisitor was injured, but the dwarf didn't know how close to the truth his words had been. Only a lifetime of practice had kept him even remotely composed.

Aldaron offered him a small smile, pressed one more brief kiss to his lips before pulling away. "Now fix your hair so we can leave," he teased as he stood up.

Self consciously Dorian raised a hand to his head, already smoothing the messy locks back into place. "How bad is it?"

"You don't want to know," the elf said, suppressing a laugh as he began packing up their bedrolls.

Immediately the mage was reaching for his pack for a mirror and comb and the wax he used to keep his hair and mustache in place. "You're cruel, amatus."

It didn't take long for the Inquisitor and his companions to pack up the few belongings Bull had brought from the camp along with their horses. Aldaron bid farewell to the Dalish elves, sharing a particularly long conversation with Keeper Hawen before nodding to him respectfully and finally turning away. There were gifts as well, small tokens of appreciation for the Inquisitor from various members of the clan. None of them useful that Dorian could tell, but he imagined there was some meaning in the handful of knickknacks that Aldaron deposited carefully into a saddle bag.

And then they were on the road. Aldaron lingered at first, taking a long moment to get comfortable in the saddle, then looking back at the wagons and the elves going about their business as though the Inquisition hadn't even been there.

He didn't want to go. Despite his words to the contrary, Aldaron wanted to stay. It was written all over his face as he finally turned away and nudged his hart forward. Dorian cast one last glance back at the camp as well before following. Though he hadn't particularly enjoyed their short stay with the clan Aldaron had obviously been over the moon with happiness. He supposed if he ran into more of his countrymen who weren't insane cultists he might feel the same.

The ride back to the nearest Inquisition camp was only a few hours. They were back by midday, which Dorian was grateful for. He'd been wearing the same clothes for four days and he really needed to change. He especially needed to get into something that wasn't stained with his lover's blood.

Dorian swung down from his horse and was all ready to disappear into the tent he shared with the Inquisitor to try and get himself clean when a soft gasp drew his attention back to Aldaron. The elf had dismounted as well, but was holding tight to the saddle still, white knuckled legs trembling.

"You alright there, boss?" The Iron Bull asked, having also noticed the Inquisitor's sudden bout of weakness.

"I'm fine," Aldaron insisted. He took a deep breath and straightened himself. "Just… sore."

Dorian frowned in concern. The elf had only been on a horse for a few hours and already he was sore? Maybe he hadn't been well enough to travel after all. "You should probably have one of our own healers take a look at that wound," he commented. The Dalish Keeper had done a good job patching him up, and Dorian was grateful, but it would make him feel better if a properly trained mage took a look at that injury.

"I said I'm fine," Aldaron protested. He took his hands from the saddle as though to prove he was strong enough. To his credit the elf didn't waver, but one hand went immediately to the small of his back, pressing against a sore muscle. Not completely fine.

"It's not a bad idea boss," Bull said. "Poisoned blade right in all your important bits? That's not the sort of thing you want to mess around with."

"Says the man who shrugged off an assassination attempt," Aldaron said pointedly.

"You have me there," Bull was forced to concede. Then he offered Dorian a shrug that seemed to say 'I tried'. Well, he appreciated the effort, wasted as it was.

"If he says he's fine, he's fine," Varric cut in, "He's not the only one who's sore. Dwarves were not built for horses."

It seemed he had no reliable allies, so Dorian decided to give up for now. "We could always find you something smaller, Varric. A nug, maybe?"

"You're hilarious, Sparkler," the dwarf replied with a roll of his eyes.

"How kind of you to notice," Dorian sighed, "My wit is so often wasted on you southern barbarians. As is my impeccable taste in fashion. Which I think is my cue to go change into something that isn't covered in filth." He cast another look in the Inquisitor's direction, but Aldaron had taken use of Varric's distraction and lead his hart over to the trough to drink while he unsaddled it.

Maybe he was just sore from inactivity. Maybe Dorian was just being overprotective. That was always a possibility.

The man shook his head and began removing his filthy robes before he even reached the tent he shared with the Inquisitor. He took his time cleaning up as much as was possible without proper bathing facilities and changed into relatively cleaner robes (nothing stayed clean while traveling, even if it never came out of his pack). When he emerged from the tent once more he felt much more himself. Before leaving Tevinter this state would never have been acceptable. My how his standards of cleanliness had fallen.

The Inquisitor was sitting on the ground to the side of their tent, feet bare and legs stretched out in front of him with a map laid over his knees. Reports were scattered on the grass beside him, more in his hands as he used a stick of charcoal stolen from the fire to scribble notes. He was still wearing the same leather armor stained with his own blood, yet seemed entirely unperturbed by it. He seemed entirely unperturbed by the injury as a whole, and perhaps that was why Dorian had been so anxious himself. If Aldaron wasn't going to worry about his own health someone had to.

"Is all this from the few days we were gone?" Dorian looked down incredulously at the pile of papers – some the small scrolls carried by Leliana's ravens and others proper letters handed off by runners and scouts. "One would think you've been gone a month."

"It wasn't a good time for me to disappear," Aldaron said without looking up. His brow was furrowed in concentration, glaring at the report in his hand. The Inquisitor was not fond of reading, still had trouble with longer words from time to time. "The scouts are certain now that Corypheus' forces are amassing in the Arbor Wilds. Morrigan thinks there's another eluvian there that he wants. He's definitely been targeting elven ruins…" He paused and scribbled something in his nearly unintelligible chicken scratch on the report in his hand before setting it aside and taking up another. "Whatever he's after, we have to make sure we get it first."

"It sounds as though you already have a plan," Dorian remarked, taking a seat beside him on the grass.

"The Inquisition army is ready to move," the Inquisitor said thoughtfully, "The soldiers here are finally heading back to Val Royeaux and the Orlesian troops will soon be able to move out as well. They'll be slow; it'll take at least a week for them to reach the Arbor Wilds. We'll have to push on through the Emerald Graves and meet them there. I wasn't planning to spend so much time here."

Dorian could have said something about injuries ruining plans, but thought it better to keep his mouth shut. He'd irritated Aldaron enough about that today. It wouldn't do any good to make him angry again. Still, he worried. Aldaron had been sore after only a few hours on horseback. Was he really well enough for a longer trip? "Why go through the Emerald Graves?" he asked, peering at the map spread out across the Inquisitor's lap. He still wasn't wholly familiar with the geography down south. "Seems a bit out of the way."

"There's a man there who says he has information for us," Aldaron explained, shuffled through some papers before finding a report and handing it to Dorian. "He also wants help getting rid of those 'Freemen of the Dales'," at the name he let out a scoff of disgust that would have made Cassandra proud.

"Couldn't you just send some of your scouts?" Dorian asked, "It seems a simple enough task."

Aldaron shook his head, "This man will only speak to the Herald of Andraste," he muttered.

"You sound thrilled," Dorian observed dryly.

"How many times do I have to tell people I'm not the Herald of Andraste before they start believing me?" Aldaron grumbled.

"I'm not sure they ever will," Dorian shrugged. Part of him still believed, even after everything he'd seen and despite all of Aldaron's vocal protests. The elf was always happy to remind everyone that he didn't believe in the Maker. Dorian believed, but he knew enough to keep his mouth shut. Saying anything about it would just upset Aldaron, and his lover had enough on his plate already.

Aldaron sighed wearily and turned his attention back to the reports in his hands. "Whatever information he has had better be good," he complained. "I would like to deal with these Freemen, but you're right, it is out of our way."

"You seem to hate these men a lot more than you're average bandits and highwaymen," Dorian observed. "Any particular reason?"

"Everything we've seen of them so far… They walk around like the Dales belong to them by rights," Aldaron groused. "The Dales don't belong to them."

"Who do they belong to?" Dorian asked curiously. It was apparently the wrong thing to say. Aldaron looked up at him sharply, brow furrowed and mouth a hard line. It took his mind a moment to realize what he should have from the start. "The elves. Of course, how stupid of me," he said quickly. "It was so obvious I couldn't think of it."

The Inquisitor's eyes narrowed dangerously for a moment, then he turned back to his reports. "You're fairly perceptive… for a shem. Maybe there's hope for you after all."

"You're teasing me," Dorian said. Aldaron hid a smile behind the papers in his hands. "Such cruelty, amatus," he clapped a hand to his chest in dismay, "And after all I've done for you. I slept outside for you!" He let himself fall back onto the grass, one arm flung out to the side and the other across his face, "How will I ever recover from this betrayal?"

"Now you're just being ridiculous," Aldaron laughed. When Dorian took his arm away from his eyes he saw that the elf had set aside all of his papers and his shoulders were shaking with restrained laughter. As he watched Aldaron pushed the map off of his lap and leaned over, arms on either side of Dorian's head as he leaned down to press their foreheads together. "Thank you for sleeping outside with me. I know you hate camping."

What did he ever do to deserve this beautiful creature's affections?

"Only for you, amatus," he breathed.

"Hey get a room, you two!" Varric's voice cut through the camp and just like that the moment was broken.

Aldaron turned red all the way up to the tips of his ears and sat up so quickly he nearly fell over backwards, pulling his hands away from Dorian sharply. Dorian himself felt his face heat up but he managed to get himself upright with a bit more grace. He sent a glare in the direction of the dwarf, sitting smugly by the fire. "Mind your own business, dwarf," he snapped.

"You're about ten feet away from me, Sparkler. I couldn't if I tried," Varric called back.

"Well then clearly you're not trying hard enough, Varric," Dorian scoffed. "Although I know it's terribly difficult to tear your eyes away from someone as handsome as I am."

That got him a bark of laughter from the dwarf. "You're not really my type, Sparkler. Just take it back to the tent if you're gonna do any of that, alright?"

"Hey, if they want to put on a show that's fine by me," The Iron Bull laughed from the other side of the fire.

Dorian's retort was cut off as Aldaron shoved him lightly on the shoulder, pulling his attention back. The elf's ears were still red. "If you're going to fight with them go do it somewhere else, I have work to do."

"You weren't complaining a moment ago," Dorian said with a smirk that brought the color back to Aldaron's cheeks. "Am I distracting you with all my charm and good looks?"

"Yes," Aldaron admitted, "So go be a distraction somewhere else. I have to send orders back to Skyhold and I want to leave in the morning."

"Are you certain you're well enough for so much traveling?" Dorian asked in concern.

Aldaron sighed, "I'm fine," he said again. "I'm sore because I've been sitting around for days doing nothing. I need the exercise."

Dorian didn't quite believe him, but Aldaron was stubborn when he wanted to be and hated to admit any kind of weakness. Badgering him likely wouldn't go well. "Alright," he relented, "I'll let the others known not to get too comfortable. Don't work yourself too hard."

"I won't," Aldaron promised, and flashed a lopsided smile before turning back to his reports.

He did seem alright for now. That would have to be good enough for Dorian.

Notes:
Have some filler for your 4th of July weekend.

A full year of Latin in college and I'm using that knowledge to make Dorian say "suck a dick". What quality life decisions I've made.