A sapling was requisitioned from a very confused officer and Aldaron planted it in a corner of the garden where he might be able to see it from his quarters. Dorian didn't actually wind up getting his hands dirty. He stood by in quiet support and shooed off anyone who so much as looked curiously in their direction.
"Feel better?" Dorian asked when Aldaron was finished, sitting back on his heels and staring thoughtfully at the three foot tall plant.
"Yes," Aldaron replied, much to his own surprise. It helped more than he had thought it would. Closure, maybe. "Thank you."
"I did very little, but you're welcome," Dorian replied. But it meant a lot that the man was even willing to sit by and watch what, to him, must have seemed like a meaningless ritual.
Aldaron stood up and wiped the dirt from his hands off on his pants, already stained at the knees where he had been crouching in the dirt. Standing up he was taller than the sapling, but it would grow. That was the point. "I'm going to stay out here for a while. You can go back in if you want."
"Alright," Dorian said. "Do remember to clean up at some point," he added, gesturing to the streaks of dirt on Aldaron's clothing, "There's no reason to let hygiene fall by the wayside just because dear Joesphine isn't hear to scold you."
"You're still here to scold me," Aldaron pointed out. There would be less disapproving frowns, but more threats of being thrown out of his own bed.
"Quite," Dorian agreed with a knowing smile. "I'll see you at dinner, amatus."
The Inquisitor's inner circle arrived at Skyhold five days after the Inquisitor himself and well ahead of the army. It was a strange five days, with significantly fewer demands on Aldaron's attention and a notable lack of long hours spent in the war room. The majority of the five days, however, Aldaron spent alternately in bed or in whatever high point in Skyhold seemed the most isolated at the time, staring out at the mountains and trying to sort through all the new information in his head. When he concentrated he could hear the voices whispering at the back of his mind and sometimes he simply knew things; things he had no way of knowing before. It was unnerving still, but very slowly Aldaron was getting used to it. It gave him a lot of things to think about, and a lot of time to think about them.
So when his advisors finally returned, in a strange sort of roll reversal, Aldaron called them straight into the war room. He needed to know what had happened at the Arbor Wilds after he left in more detail than could be found in the short messages that ravens carried. He also needed to share what he'd learned at the temple and afterward.
The end was within sight. Corypheus' forces had been soundly routed by the combined armies of the Inquisition and Orlais and the would-be god apparently fled the field as soon as the Inquisitor was gone. A resounding victory on all fronts. And, thanks to the voices from the Well of Sorrows, Aldaron knew what needed to be done next.
He felt capable for the first time since waking up in Haven to find the sky torn to shreds and his hand pierced by unknown magic.
The dragon was just a dragon, not an archdemon. Dragons could be killed. Aldaron had even done it once before. It wouldn't be easy, not by a long shot. They were not likely to get the dragon away from Corypheus. Now that the monster had no army to hide behind the dragon was his only defense. So Aldaron would need all the help he could get.
When he was finally free of meetings (and even after leaving the war room there was still much to go over thanks to Aldaron's many weeks away from Skyhold prior to the battle) Aldaron was not done working yet. He headed out to the gardens in search of Morrigan. Much as he hated the woman, there was much that the Well told him that he still did not fully understand. Sometimes he felt as though he only heard every other word the voices tried to tell him. She might be able to help him make sense of it.
Unfortunately there was no sign of the witch in the gardens. That was a little unusual. Most days she could be found there with her son, but perhaps they had taken the boy's schooling inside for today. Aldaron was just about to leave and search elsewhere when he realized that the door to the storage room that housed the eluvian was flung wide open.
It was supposed to be locked.
Aldaron approached the open door with a sense of dread that only increased when he saw what was inside. The whole room was flooded with the eerie bluish glow that emanated from the eluvian's active surface. Before it stood Leliana, shifting from foot to foot anxiously.
"What's going on?" he asked in alarm.
"Inquisitor!" Leliana spun to face him, startled by his appearance. "Thank the Maker you're here! Morrigan chased after her son into the eluvian. She said he activated it somehow."
Morrigan's son. Kieran. Aldaron had only met the boy once before, and briefly. Polite, if a little bit odd. Younger even than Aldaron's sister had been.
Aldaron hated the eluvian. It frightened him, but that was exactly why he knew what needed to be done. The Crossroads were vast and bleak. A child – even a mage child as he expected Kieran was – could get lost in there and never be found again. And if he had the ability to activate the eluvian on his own…
The Inquisitor shook his head. It didn't bear thinking about. "If we're not back in an hour get help," he ordered Leliana, and stepped through the mirror.
Then came to an abrupt halt.
This wasn't the Crossroads. High cliffs of jagged stone rose up on either side of him, reaching up toward a sickly green sky.
He was in the Fade.
He couldn't breathe.
It felt like all the air had left his lungs, but he couldn't manage to fill them again. His throat clenched, his heart leapt wildly in his chest. Unbidden he remembered the last time he had walked in the Fade, the demons, the terror, the nightmare.
He couldn't breathe.
He spun around and took two staggered steps back toward the eluvian before stopping himself again just out of reach of the mirror. Gasping for breath, mind reeling, he wanted to run away. He couldn't be back here. Not again. Not again.
But there was a child lost in here. He had to find him.
Aldaron turned around again, away from the eluvian, then fell to his knees, lightheaded and gasping for breath. No, he couldn't do this. Not here. Anywhere but here.
There were whispers at the back of his mind, voices that were not his own. Be calm. Breathe. Trembling and staring at the ground through eyes that blurred with tears Aldaron opened his mouth and took in a long ragged breath, then let it out shakily.
Remember to breathe.
The voices were trying to help, but here in this place it was doing the exact opposite. The Nightmare spoke in his mind also and in this moment that was all he could hear. He wanted – needed – to get out of here but he couldn't. Not until he found Kieran and saw the child safely out of this place. It was that thought that Aldaron focused on as he tried to bring his body back under control.
It worked. Slowly his breathing began to slow, his heart stopped beating hard enough to make him dizzy. His vision cleared as the tears dried up.
Then he vomited. Heaved up his breakfast onto the muddy ground of the Fade, gagging and retching until there was nothing left for his body to expel. Trembling all over, Aldaron sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was panting again, but not from fear this time. He felt weak and shaken, but forced himself to his feet on unsteady legs.
He had control of himself for a moment. Best get this over with quickly before that control shattered once more. He could not be out of this place soon enough.
It was too much. It was all too much. The Fade – around every corner he expected a demon – the voices in his head – telling him what to do, what to believe, too much like the Nightmare – that woman – Flemeth, Mythal? But a human – it was wrong. It was all wrong.
He had to get out. He had to get out.
Aldaron emerged from the eluvian again and nearly lost his footing as he stepped back into the real world. He staggered to the side and managed to catch himself with a hand on the wall. His legs were shaking, barely able to support him. His entire body felt ready to collapse at any moment.
"Inquisitor." Someone was talking to him and that was the first time he realized he'd been staring blankly at the wall. He could barely think, but he turned to face the voice. It was Morrigan, standing only a few feet away and holding her son close. "Thank you," the woman said. Aldaron stared at her blankly, barely able to comprehend her words. He couldn't seem to make his mouth open to form words, either, even if he had known what to say.
"Morrigan," Leliana interrupted gently. She was still here? "You should see to your son, don't you think?"
The witch looked at him suspiciously for a moment, and then nodded. "Come along, Kieran," she said, and ushered her son back out into the garden.
Aldaron realized he was shaking all over, his whole body wracked with tremors. He tried to blink back tears, but his vision had gone blurry so that he could barely make out Leliana's face. "Inquisitor," she spoke his title gently and lay a hand on his shoulder. Aldaron flinched away from her violently, pressing himself back against the cold stone wall. It was too much. Everything was too much. Had he really stepped back out of the eluvian or was this all an illusion? A trick? A test? The woman stared at him a moment longer. "I'll fetch Dorian." And then she was gone.
The voices in his head were deafening and dissonant, like a hundred people shouting at once. His own thoughts tumbled over themselves, unable to focus. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands over his ears in an effort to drown it out, but it did nothing. His legs gave out, sending him sliding down to the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest. Breathing ragged, he pressed his hands harder to his ears, deaf to the whimpers that escaped his throat and numb to the tears that lined his cheeks.
How long he sat there, trembling and crying and gasping for breath, Aldaron didn't know. He didn't hear the door open again. He didn't hear the footsteps that raced across the room to his side. He was only very suddenly aware of someone pulling his hands away from his ears. The shock provoked an almost violent reaction. His eyes flew open but couldn't focus through the tears and the panic. He jerked his hands out of the loose grip that held them and pressed himself harder against the wall at his back.
"Aldaron. Aldaron, look at me," Dorian's voice was soft but urgent, his hands on Aldaron's face and gently forcing his chin up. "Look at me, amatus." As he blinked away the tears the man's face slowly came into focus, grey eyes wide and brow lined with fear. Aldaron tried to open his mouth and say something but all that came out was a low keening moan. Softly, Dorian shushed him and ever so gently wiped the tears from his cheeks. "I'm here. You're safe," his voice was so soft Aldaron could barely hear it over the cacophony in his head, but it was smooth and even. His hands on Aldaron's face were warm and solid. "You're in Skyhold. It's safe here. This is real." Another whine escaped the elf's throat unbidden. Everything was too loud, he couldn't think. "Look at me, amatus. Focus on me." With effort Aldaron met Dorian's eyes. Unconsciously his hands reached out and latched onto the man's clothing. His form was solid and warm and reassuring. "Good, keep focusing on me. Now I need you to breathe, amatus. Deep breaths," Dorian himself took a long slow breath and Aldaron did his best to copy. He still felt like he couldn't get enough air, but he focused on breathing and on the grounding feeling of the man's form. "Good, just like that," Dorian praised softly and wiped tears from Aldaron's cheeks again. "Keep breathing. You're back in Skyhold, amatus. This is real."
This was real. This was real. Dorian was real. The breathing helped. His mind was beginning to clear, the voices pushed to the back as he focused on only Dorian's instead. "'Ma'nehn," he was barely aware of speaking as the word slipped out in a broken whisper.
A smile tugged at the corner of Dorian's mouth. "I'm here," he assured. "I've got you."
Aldaron could have almost cried with relief as the fear – that overwhelming and all-consuming terror – slowly began to subside. It left him still trembling slightly; feeling weak and exhausted. Without another word he forced himself to release the death grip he had on Dorian's shirt and instead wrapped his arms around the man's neck, hugging him tight.
"Noli timere," the mage breathed into his ear, arms wrapping around Aldaron's chest and rubbing his back gently. "Quam fortis…"
Aldaron couldn't understand the words but they didn't matter. The words never mattered, just Dorian's voice, low and even and soothing. He pressed his face into the man's collar and breathed in deeply. Dorian always smelled like parchment and leather, perfumed soaps and a hint of lyrium. The Fade smelled of sulfur and decay, the metallic tang of ozone that lingered around rifts. Even in dreams the demons couldn't get the smell right.
"Will he be alright?" Leliana's voice drifted to them from across the room. Aldaron hadn't even been aware of her presence. He hadn't been aware of anything other than Dorian, but gradually the rest of the world was coming back into focus.
"Yes, I think so," Dorian replied without releasing his hold on the elf.
"If I knew that mirror would lead into the Fade, I wouldn't have let him go alone," Leliana said. She sounded almost apologetic. She'd known, then, about his fears. Of course she knew. Leliana knew everything.
"It certainly didn't lead there the last time," Dorian said. "Would you be so kind as to clear his schedule for the rest of the day? He's certainly in no shape to be meeting with anyone important."
"Of course," Leliana assured. "Will he need anything else?"
Aldaron felt Dorian shake his head slightly, "No, I think we'll be alright here. I'll stay with him; get him back to his room when he feels like walking again."
There was no further reply from Leliana, but Aldaron heard her footsteps retreating, and then a door closing and he knew he was alone with Dorian. His breathing had calmed, his heart felt normal. Gradually he forced himself to release the death grip he had on Dorian's shirt. He took another deep breath, filling his head with the man's scent before reluctantly pulling away from him. Now that it was over – mostly over, at least – he felt ashamed. He was the Inquisitor; Herald of Andraste; savior of the world. He was supposed to be brave, and yet he was reduced to a useless, sniveling coward because of a place.
"Better now?" Dorian's voice was gentle and sympathetic, but worried.
Aldaron raised his eyes hesitantly to meet the man's once more. He felt such humiliation and weakness that he was surprised to find no pity in Dorian's eyes, only concern. There had only ever been concern in Dorian's eyes, and yet Aldaron always expected otherwise. This man was too good for him.
"Hey," Dorian said again, pulling his attention back again. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," Aldaron was equally ashamed of how his voice came out shaky and weak, barely a whisper. "I am now."
Gradually Dorian shifted until he was sitting by Aldaron's side and leaning against the wall, an arm around the elf's shoulders protectively. Aldaron pressed himself close to the man, curling against his side. "This one was bad," Dorian observed, and he wasn't wrong. It the worst panic Aldaron had experienced since that night after they returned from the Fade.
"I was back there again," Aldaron murmured, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing back the memories that threatened to overwhelm him again, focusing on the solid, reassuring presence of Dorian at his side. "It looked the same… I kept expecting—I kept expecting to see that thing again. I thought… I thought-,"
"Shh," Dorian soothed, cutting him off, "It's over now. No demons here."
No. No demons here. He was in Skyhold, and Skyhold was safe. Skyhold was always safe. In a moment of returning fear he glanced over at the eluvian, but it was dark now, inactive. No longer a threat. He curled closer against Dorian's side. "I'm such a coward," he bit out, angry at himself for losing his composure so completely.
"What makes you think that?" Dorian asked.
"This," Aldaron said, looking down at himself. His hands were still shaking as the last of the adrenaline left his system.
Dorian hummed thoughtfully. "I think you're very brave, actually," he said. Aldaron opened his mouth to protest, but Dorian held up a hand to stop him. "The Fade is what you are most afraid of in the entire world, correct?" Aldaron nodded mutely. "And yet you faced it. You could have turned around and run away as soon as you realized where you were."
"I almost did," Aldaron said quietly.
"But you didn't," Dorian reminded him. "You were scared, but you didn't run away. That is very brave. Believe me. I know a lot about running away."
Aldaron fell silent and looked down at his hands as they stopped trembling. He didn't feel very brave sitting on the floor and crying his eyes out. He didn't feel brave at all. He felt wretched. A child had been less frightened than him in that place. They all must have been able to see it, as well. Although Aldaron had managed to pull himself together enough to walk and talk, he hadn't stopped shaking the entire time.
And he had stood there before the last remnants of his patron goddess a pathetic terrified mess.
It made him want to cry all over again.
"Dorian," Aldaron said softly.
"Hmm?" Dorian glanced down at him.
"I have to fight a dragon," the elf stated.
For a long moment Dorian didn't say anything. "Is this going to become a habit? You walk in the Fade, and then you go fight a dragon to make yourself feel better?"
"No," Aldaron shook his head slightly. "This is different. Mythal told me to."
"Mythal…" Dorian repeated, doubt clear in his voice. "You'll have to explain that one a bit more."
"Kieran didn't activate the eluvian himself, I don't think," Aldaron said. "In the Fade we found Morrigan's mother. She… She's Mythal."
"Morrigan's mother is an ancient elven goddess?" Dorian asked in disbelief.
"Yes. No… Sort of," Aldaron frowned. "She said that... Not all of Mythal died. Some part of her… her spirit remained, and it found Flemeth, and now it's a part of her."
"So Morrigan's mother is possessed by the spirit of an ancient elven goddess," Dorian reiterated.
"I think so," Aldaron said. "She is Mythal… at least in part. I never understand anything about magic," he mumbled, feeling stupid as always in conversations like this. Dorian would have understood if he was there. Morrigan seemed to understand. Aldaron wouldn't have believed it if not for the voices in his head insisting on the truth of the woman's words.
A tiny smile tugged at Dorian's mouth but was quickly subdued before Aldaron could place the emotion behind it. "So, you met your favorite goddess and she told you to go fight a dragon. Why do you have to do this?"
"I have to tame it," Aldaron clarified. "So that it can fight Corypheus' dragon. We have to kill the dragon before we can kill Corypheus, but I can't fight both of them at the same time."
A moment of silence, and then "That actually makes sense," Dorian admitted. "Is this a specific dragon or do we have to find one on our own?"
"A specific one," Aldaron replied. "I know where I need to go. There's an old shrine to Mythal back in the Arbor Wilds. The dragon will be there."
"You know, when you told me last time that you wanted to fight a dragon 'for practice' I didn't think you were being prophetic," Dorian sighed. "I had rather hoped it would be a one-off."
Aldaron remembered how much Dorian had protested that venture, though he had seemed to enjoy it by the end. "You don't have to come," he assured. This was something he had to do, and while he would appreciate the support he wouldn't force Dorian to do this again.
Dorian frowned at him. "You plan to go fight some sort of mystical god dragon and you think I'd be happier sitting here twiddling my thumbs waiting for you to come back?" he asked incredulously. "What honestly makes you think I'd let you run off to do something like that on your own? Someone has to make sure you don't get yourself killed."
Dorian always said things like that, but it still surprised Aldaron. For all the man's complaining about camping and fighting and the weather he still insisted on going everywhere that the Inquisitor went. Was he honestly that worried about Aldaron's well being? It shouldn't surprise him anymore at this point, but it still did. "It'll have to be soon," he murmured.
"Of course," Dorian agreed. "Not today, though. You're in no shape to be traipsing through the wilderness in search of dragons."
"I'm feeling much better now," Aldaron assured him softly, but Dorian was right. He was calmed down now, but still shaken a little from the experience, exhausted now that the adrenaline had worn off.
"And I'm glad to hear it," Dorian replied. He leaned in to give Aldaron a kiss, but the elf stopped him with fingertips on his lips.
"I threw up… in the Fade," he said to answer Dorian's confused expression.
The man's brows shot up as he pulled away again. "That will certainly be a pleasant surprise for some spirit," he commented, pulling a disgusted face. "Let's get you something to wash away that horrible taste. Do you feel like walking around yet?"
"I think so," Aldaron replied. He wasn't shaking anymore, and Dorian could probably tell also because they were still pressed close together. He didn't really want to leave Dorian's embrace, but he did want to leave this room. He still hated the eluvian, even more so now than he had before, and would feel much better out of its shadow. He reluctantly pulled away from Dorian's side and rose slowly to his feet, hand on the wall just in case. But his legs felt steady.
Dorian stood as well, dusting off his pants. The floor in here was rather filthy, Aldaron realized belatedly. He would probably hear about it later, when the memories of his terror were less fresh. "Shall we?" the man asked, cocking his head toward the door.
Aldaron nodded and let his lover lead the way back out into the garden. There he closed his eyes and took a deep breath of fresh air, listened to the wind in the trees, further reassuring himself that he was back in reality. "Amatus?" Dorian's voice pulled him out of his thoughts and Aldaron looked over to see the man's face lined with concern again.
"I'm alright," he assured, and offered a small smile. "I am starving, though."
Dorian laughed softly. "That's understandable. Shall we retire for an early dinner, then?"
"I think we should raid the kitchens," Aldaron agreed, nodding sagely.
"You know, I'm not sure it counts as raiding when the entire staff fully expects it to happen and is prepared," Dorian pointed out.
"That does make it less fun," Aldaron admitted. Well, he wasn't feeling well enough for a proper kitchen raid anyway.
"Why don't we raid the wine cellar instead," Dorian suggested with a smirk. "Take something rare and expensive, possibly with a note on it 'reserved for the Marquis of someplace important'. You deserve at least that much after the day you've had."
"You're motives are entirely selfless, then?" Aldaron asked, knowing full well that Dorian's desire to raid the wine cellars – which he was still technically banned from – was at least a little bit selfish.
"Of course," the man replied with a knowing smirk. "I live to serve, Inquisitor."
"Well, then lead on Lord Pavus," Aldaron said with a sweep of his arm.
"As you command, Your Worship," Dorian replied. He dropped a low bow with excessive flourish before offering his arm to Aldaron, which the elf accepted readily and let Dorian lead him through the garden.
Notes:
Noli timere - Don't be afraid
Quam fortis - How brave/strong