Never Get Used To You
Written for August Fic Challenge 2023, Prompt: Susurration. Comments and kudos would be awesome. Enjoy!
It is late by the time Dorian finally abandons his work in his little nook of the library, eyes weary from so long spent staring at the pages in the dim light. He makes his way through darkened halls of the castle toward the Inquisitor's chambers as he does most every night these as of late.
He fully expects to find his Amatus soundly asleep in their bed already (he certainly should be at any rate, after a long day of training). He's as quiet as possible in his ascent to the room, eases the heavy door open just so to keep it from squeaking on its hinges. Minds his feet on the uneven stone steps. But some shadowy movement in the moonlight catches his eye before he reaches the top, freezes him in place.
Something is wrong.
Someone else is here.
It only takes a second for the scene to register.
The Inquisitor is not soundly asleep, not at all. In fact, it appears as though he is fighting for his life. He is struggling against the intruder braced behind him, against the fine cord wrapped tight around his neck – it keeps him silent, fighting desperately for any bit of breath he can manage. Flailing wildly to try to make noise some other way, clawing at the would-be assassin's arms, his face, anything he can reach.
Dorian has no real plan when he acts, but the instinctive bursts of magic he fires off do the job swiftly enough. The intruder drops to the ground with a strangled cry of pain, and with that, his hold on the garrote falters. He rushes to his lover's side, pulls the cord away and throws it aside as if it were some poisonous serpent. "Amatus," Dorian breathes, his hands careful of the bruised, bloody mess the thing has made of the vulnerable flesh of his neck.
The Inquisitor is still sucking in frantic, painful gasps of air, one hand clinging to Dorian as the fogginess of near unconsciousness fades away.
"You're okay," Dorian tells him, eases him through several steady breaths until they come a bit easier for him. "I've got you, you're okay."
The Inquisitor nods, calmer now in Dorian's capable hands. Still, he glances at his assailant with wary eyes. An assassin sent to kill the only one who can stop Corypheus. Sent by whom? The Venatori? The Red Templars? Someone else?
But that is a question best left to the others, Dorian knows, for if he is left alone to question the man who nearly stole his Amatus from him, answers will not be the thing he wrings from the foolish soul presently unconscious before him, only blood and screams. Just for good measure, he fires off another burst of magic – best to make sure the monster stays down.
He helps the Inquisitor back to bed – now, he can see the signs of a struggle; the intruder must have struck while he was asleep, pulled him out of bed by his neck as they fought. He can't imagine the terror of being snapped back into reality to that thing around his throat.
"Thank you," the Inquisitor chokes out in something that's barely a whisper, his voice wrecked by the weapon. He reaches out, like he wants nothing more than to pull Dorian close and block all of this out for the night.
But that is not an option just yet.
Still, it does not stop Dorian from claiming a desperate kiss of his own, lips lingering for a beat too long as he allows himself this moment of relief because he knows as soon as he sounds the alarm, they will be swarmed by the others in response to this new threat – a healer to ensure no damage has been done, a jailer for the would be assassin, the rest of the Inquisitor's various companions and advisors all barreling in to work out how the hell the bastard made it in, what is means. He wouldn't be surprised if the whole of Skyhold is involved by the time the dawn comes.
"Always, Amatus," he whispers as he pulls away.