Chapter 21: Trevelyan's End

For the first two days after returning through the Eluvian, Dorian watched helplessly as the Empress's best healers, chosen from Vivienne's recommendations, came. Bull's cut had been clean, and Dorian's flame had stopped Theo from bleeding to death, but fighting off the magic had done other damage to his body and then to his mind that even the most talented healers could hardly touch. The best they could do was keep him in a fitful sleep induced by thick potions.

I'd rather have you alive and filthy than pristine and dead, Dorian had told him only a few mornings ago. It was still true. He helped servants empty chamber pots, he wiped the sweat and tear tracks from Theo's dirt-smudged face, he ran a cool cloth over his arms and legs and made himself stare as healers changed the dressings on the burned stump: what remained of his left arm. I did that, Dorian told himself, when the gnarled flesh made him feel sick to his stomach. To save you, he thought, staring at Theo's pale face. His eyelashes fluttered and his mouth grimaced with whatever potion-induced dreams plagued him.

Nothing anyone did was quite enough, and as the days became a week Dorian was certain he would lose his love. He slept in short bursts, waking in panic when he couldn't hear Theo breathing-only to realize it was because Theo's breathing was a bit deeper and stronger, not so shallow and ragged. His eyes were half open, but glazed and unfocused. Dorian sighed and carded his fingers through Theo's tangled hair. Part of him wished he could pass on, peacefully and quietly, free of his burdens and injuries. It would hurt terribly; but so did watching him linger in a magically induced coma with no end in sight, good or bad.

Someone tapped on the door timidly. "Come in," he called, running a hand through his hair and over his face. He needed a shave and a proper bath. He needed Theo to be alive and well. The chances of either happening were looking slim.

It was Cullen, followed by a plump woman with soft golden-brown eyes and tousled, curly, white-blonde hair. She met his gaze and he immediately felt calm fill the room-or maybe it was just in his mind. She dropped her eyes and did a small curtsey. Cullen gestured to a chair near the bed, and Dorian nodded. He pulled one up as well. "Is he the same?" Cullen asked. Dorian just nodded again, not trusting himself to speak. "I'm sorry, Dorian," Cullen said, gently clapping him on the back. He cleared his throat. "This is Melina, a friend of mine from my time in Ferelden," he said, but he was blushing slightly, and the way he cast a sidelong glance at Melina, Dorian figured there was some history there.

"Ser Cullen contacted me immediately; when he told me of the situation I had to come," she told Dorian. She sat primly on the edge of the chair, hands folded in her lap. Her rose-colored robes were the southern style, and she wore a polished gold amulet of Andraste around her neck. She turned her gaze back to Theo. Her brow furrowed and she blinked rapidly. "Even in sleep his mind rages," she murmured.

"Mellie is a spirit healer," Cullen explained.

"And an empath as a result," Dorian finished. No wonder he'd felt a shift in his emotions when she entered.

"The injury to his body is severe, but what his mind has suffered only makes it worse," she said. "May I?"

Dorian vacated his seat so Melina could get closer to Theo. She touched her amulet. "Arise, Aegis of the Faith. You are not forgotten. Neither man nor Maker shall forget your bravery, so long as I remember. At this, his wounds healed," she prayed. Dorian smiled. Theo hated being known as the Herald of Andraste and put little stock in the Chantry or the Maker. Melina rested her hand on his forehead. Her fingertips glowed white; Theo's eyelids fluttered and his brow furrowed. She chanted softly. At one point Theo's eyes opened wide and he gasped. Dorian instinctively rose, but Cullen grabbed his forearm.

"Mellie knows what she's doing," he told him. "The things she witnessed during the Blight, and the people she healed with her abilities… while they weren't the same as this, she is one of the best healers I've ever known. And I've known many mages in my life," Cullen added.

At last Melina stepped away, swaying slightly. Cullen jumped up and helped her into a chair. "Thank you, Commander," she told him. She was pale, but smiling. "I can do more tomorrow. I believe we may be headed toward improvements, but he is more than injured. He's been broken in mind and spirit as well as body." She smoothed her robes. "I think we should take a rest. Perhaps have a meal and clean up." Cullen agreed and they both rose. "I mean you as well, Ser Pavus," Melina said.

Dorian's mana spiked defensively, but Melina waved her hand and cast a shield around herself and Cullen. "I'll have something brought," he said tiredly, willing his mana to subside.

Melina rested her hand on his shoulder. It felt warm, and he felt a subtle nudge of calm at the edges of his mind that he couldn't avoid. "Your husband will rest well enough for now. I believe you need healing as well. You're wearing yourself thin." Her golden eyes were concerned. "Even the spirits of the Fade tell you this. They've never led you astray before, so why fight them now?" she asked. He narrowed his gaze at her and she smiled. "I use my connection to spirits to heal; you use yours to conjure fear and death. But we are both intimately connected to the Fade and use it to help one another and those we care for. Listen to your magic, Ser."

He wasn't sure if it was her empathetic magic, or the earnest tone of her voice, but Dorian finally smiled. "Please. Just Dorian. And… sod it, I'll go. But not for long," he said. Watch him. Protect him, he told the spirits of the Fade.

"They will do as you ask," Melina said with a smile of her own. "I promise he will be well while we are away. Inquisitor Trevelyan's stubbornness has been a thing of legend throughout southern Thedas.".

Dorian followed them to a sitting room that had been closed off by Inquisition guards who kept the public at bay. He had no doubt Duke Cyril and Arl Teagan were trying to decide how this turn of events worked in their respective favors, and suddenly wanted to see Teagan, to physically slap the disdain off his face and then maybe blast him out of the palace. Look what he gave up for you. He saved you in spite of your petty bickering. He never wanted the power you ascribed to him, he'd shout. And then he'd zap Cyril's mask right off his face, look him in the eye and-

"Dorian?" Melina rested a hand on his shoulder. "You're upset. Eat. Drink. Clean up. Then you must rest."

"You're not going to tell me to be strong for him?" Dorian asked, his voice strained. A servant set down a cup of warm mulled wine.

"Eventually. Right now you need to feel. You need to process your own pain before you can take on his," she told him, sipping at her own cup, and delicately tearing the crust off a piece of bread. "Otherwise it will be too much, for both of you."

Dorian just nodded and tried to force down some bread and soup. His stomach twisted with anxiety, but he made himself eat. It did help him feel better: less fuzzy and slightly more focused, but he wouldn't give Melina the satisfaction of knowing that, regardless of how sweet and compassionate she was toward him. He still had his pride. And the way people looked at him, guarded, as though he may break if they spoke to him, was hurting that as well.

He left Melina and Cullen chatting with Leliana, reminiscing about their time in Ferelden during the blight. "I am sorry Arl Teagan grew so bitter," Melina lamented. "The burdens of leadership can be too heavy."

Dorian hurried out into the hallway and turned a corner. He lost himself in the corridors of the palace's guest wing and finally stopped in a dim hallway and leaned against the wall. What would Arl Teagan know about the burdens of leadership? The stories of his bumbling about as King Alistair's envoy in Orlais and elsewhere were widespread. He'd led a village. Theo had led the Inquisition, saved the world multiple times now, and remained compassionate and generous, and above all, humble.

A small cry escaped him, and his eyes burned with unshed tears. His eyelids felt lined with grit, and his ribs too tight around his lungs. He drew his knees to his chest and buried his head in his hands and released the dam on his emotions. He let himself grieve and feel heartache and anxiety. He had avoided falling in love because he knew to love was to be vulnerable; but Theo had shown him that being vulnerable with another could actually be a strength. Except times like this, though, when Dorian realized that the thought of losing Theo hurt so badly.

He was a snotty, tear-streaked mess when at last his sobs turned into shuddering breaths, but he felt lighter, and ironically, stronger: able to face the uncertainty of what was to come. He got to his feet, leaning against the wall, and headed toward his room. Miraculously he saw no one, but there were more shadows than usual in these halls and he realized that the Fade spirits were shadowing him from prying eyes. It was… touching, really, if one could call spirits of death sentimental.

Dorian slipped into the suite of rooms. Someone had opened the windows a bit and the sweet evening air was fresh and clean. A bath had been run for him and kept warm magically, and he disrobed and sank into the water. It felt good to get clean, truly clean, and he realized it had been an embarrassingly long time between now and his last proper wash. He then shaved and combed his hair back into place before slipping into loose, comfortable clothing and heading back to Theo's side.

He pulled the settee up to the side of the bed and reclined on it, stretching out his legs and leaning on his elbow as he watched Theo sleep. He wasn't agitated anymore, and his chest rose and fell evenly. His lips were dry and cracked though, and dark circles ringed his eyes. Dorian took Theo's hand, rubbing his thumb over the gold wedding band there. "I love you," he whispered.

The settee was awkward and uncomfortable and Dorian's neck was stiff. Even worse, his shoulder was wet, meaning he'd drooled on himself. He winced and shifted, but stopped suddenly.

Theo was staring at him, his green eyes still glassy, but focused. "Hey," he whispered. "I'm not dead. Again."

Dorian scrambled upright. "Maker's breath I'm so happy you're awake," he told him, grabbing his hand and squeezing. He brushed Theo's hair off his forehead. "Do you need anything?" he asked.

Theo closed his eyes. "My mouth tastes like the Fallow Mire," he said in his raspy voice. Dorian got him some water and helped him drink. "Can you tell me what happened? I don't really remember a lot," he finally said and bit his bottom lip. Dorian recounted what had happened from the moment he fell through the Eluvian in the ruins, but found it hard to go on when he got to the part about what he and Bull had had to do.

Theo closed his eyes and his brow furrowed in thought. "It… still feels like it's there," Theo said. "Not painful the way it was. But still there." He looked back at Dorian. "For three years I wished that thing would be gone, and now it is and I…"

"Shh." Dorian kissed his forehead. "I'll call the spirit healer back in and have you looked at."

Moments later Melina arrived. She shooed Cullen and Leliana out of the way and closed the door behind her. "Your friends are overjoyed, Inquisitor Trevelyan," she said with a smile that Theo did not return. He kept his eyes locked on Dorian as Melina examined him, until she got to his left arm. "This may be painful, Ser," she said, resting a hand on his forehead and letting white light seep into him. She got to work on the bandages, occasionally asking Dorian to bring her something. Theo would not look at either of them.

She gently cleaned the burn wounds, then held his arm in both hands. Dorian felt the energy of the spirits surrounding her, working through her to heal his arm.

"Dor… can you tell your friends to go away?" Theo asked suddenly.

"My… Vishante kaffas," Dorian muttered. A few purple-tinged spirits flitted around him, watching. "Thank you," he said to them, aloud, since Theo could clearly see them. "We'll call when you are needed." Even Theo managed to smile a little bit at that.

Melina wrapped Theo's arm stump in clean bandages soaked in a solution of elfroot, prophet's laurel, and embrium flowers. "I'll be back later in the day. I'll see that tea is sent, probably something with ginger to settle your stomach after all the potions. Please let me know any way I might serve you, Inquisitor."

Theo just nodded and Melina left. The window was still open, and the sweet breeze mingled with the herby scent of the poultice. "Do you want to sit up?" Dorian asked, and Theo nodded. "I'm sure you're quite stiff." Theo struggled to prop himself up on his elbow while Dorian arranged pillows and bolsters behind him, then helped him get upright and lean back. "How do you feel?"

"Do you want the truth?"

"Yes, Amatus. I can't be the man you need unless you're honest with me," Dorian told him. He took a shuddering breath.

"I feel… like I'm not the Inquisitor anymore."

Dorian expected something about pain, about feeling dirty or tired or even needing to relieve himself properly, but not this. "Of course you are," he finally said. "The mark didn't make you-"

"We both know that, but to everyone else, that's what made me the Inquisitor." He leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. "I thought I didn't want to be him anymore. But now it's like part of me died." He sighed. "Ameridan was right. Do you suppose he spent eight centuries thinking about all he gave up for everyone else?"

Dorian hadn't considered the first Inquisitor in months. "I don't know what spell he used; it's likely he was in stasis, and if he dreamed, the Fade is timeless," he said, picking at a thread on the blankets.

"I thought I could do better. That it wouldn't consume me like it did him."

"What do you want now?" Dorian asked, almost afraid of what Theo would say.

His grip tightened around Dorian's hand. "To do what the last Inquisitor could not. To stop being Inquisitor. It's over, Dor. I can't be him anymore."

Author's Note: Many thanks to I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins on AO3 for allowing Mellie to appear! Mellie is just one of a cast of fantastic and dynamic characters from their story "What Has Been Wrought", found here: /works/6845023/chapters/15625303