Author's Note: The Lavellan in my story is named Vax'ildan. There is no relation to the character from Critical Role, I just really like that name. The character of Lavellan in this story is created by me! :)
Blood gushes from the jagged line carved across the Inquisitor's neck. His golden eyes grow wide from shock before all awareness leaves them. He falls to his knees in front of Dorian, hand reaching up at the wound trying to piece together why it hurts. A gurgling noise is all that escapes his lips as he tries to cry out with no success. His eyes slowly close and his hand falls limply back to his side as he falls face first into Dorian's chest.
Shouts ring out and a flash of purple magic flares. He feels fabric being pulled tightly against the Inquisitor's wounds, and magic pouring out of his own hands. Then he is standing, the broken elf in his arms, the front of Dorian's robes growing warm with his blood.
Blood, sweat, and dirt mix to create a rancid, metallic aroma that stings Dorian's nostrils. He doesn't think he will ever be rid of the scent, but he tries his best to breathe shallow breaths and push on.
A dull throb radiates around Dorian's head from the base of his skull to his temples. He opens his eyes and blinks a couple of times, trying to get his bearings. Stone bricks and wooden beams stare down at him and he realizes he is laying down. How he got here, and where exactly here is, remains a mystery. He remembers getting to Skyhold, and washing off in the washroom and then…nothing. He tries to sit up, but his muscles vehemently protest and he lets out a frustrated grunt.
"Careful. If the healers hear you, you'll never escape." He hears the voice coming from somewhere on his right. It's low and gravely but vaguely familiar - sarcasm drips perfectly from each weakly formed word. Slowly, he turns his head and his hazel eyes meet dull, golden eyes staring back at him from his bed a few feet away.
"Inquisitor…" Dorian breathes.
"Please. This is hardly the place for ridiculous honorifics." the elf jokes. His voice is low and rough, and it looks like he is straining with every word.
"Of course…Vax'ildan." Dorian responds, trying out the name. He can count on one hand the amount of times he has ever used it. It feels very…intimate.
"Just Vax is fine."
"Yes, well. If it's all the same to you I will stick to your full name. I'd like to retain some level of decorum, lest we succumb to southern barbarity entirely." He quips. He watches as Vax'ildan's lips pull into his signature smirk and his heart soars.
He takes a moment to scan Vax'ildan's face. His hair is still neatly tied to the side, spilling over his right shoulder. His eyes are a dull gold, compared to their normally radiant hue, but they were open and - better still - full of life. Dorian lowers his gaze past his chapped lips to the dark red line across his throat. His skin is pulled together into a tight, raised line. The wound is fully closed, but would definitely take quite some time to heal properly. He suspects the Inquisitor will never fully be rid of it. He can't see the wound on Vax'ildan's abdomen, but assumes it is in a similar state. I am going to be in Vivienne's debt forever.
"How are you feeling?" Dorian asks softly, not quite able to move his gaze from Vax'ildan's throat.
"Like I want to crawl out of my skin." He lets out a small chuckle. "I've been in this bed for days now. I think I'm going insane."
"Shall we break out?" Dorian suggests with a playful grin. "We've taken down demons, surely a couple healers won't be a problem."
"Creators, could you imagine the look on Cassandra's face?" Vax says, a mischievous glint in his eye. "How far do you think we could get?"
"In our current state? I'd say…about the tavern." Dorian replies, playing out the scenario in his head. Dorian struggles against his limp muscles while the Inquisitor hobbles behind him. The pair of them slip into the Herald's Rest, in a dark corner somewhere laughing over a drink while the Council runs around like headless chickens in search of them. "If I'm going to suffer a headache like this, I'd at least like the enjoyment of being drunk."
"Is it bad?" Vax asks, his voice growing sincere. "They wouldn't tell me much. Just kept insisting that I rest and that I needn't worry myself."
"I have had five truly magnificent hangovers in my life. The kind accompanied by nights so full of frivolity and debauchery that they are written into legends." Dorian says almost wistfully. "This headache tops all of them…without all the excitement and extravagance, I might add."
"I'd like to hear about those nights sometime." The gravelly tenor of Vax's voice sends chills across Dorian's skin.
Dorian looks over at Vax, meeting his gaze. He wears his all too familiar smirk and playful air, but there's still something so vexing about Vax'ildan. He always feels slightly off balance around him, almost self-conscious - something Altus Dorian Pavus does not feel often. A warm happiness tugs at his heart, but it's tainted by a sadness he cannot explain or ignore.
"Indeed." Dorian replies in a confident tone. "However, I will save them for a time when we are in a more suitable environment surrounded by comfort and libations."
"I'll hold you to that, lethallin."
Dorian does not speak Dalish, but there's no denying the little skip his heart does as the words roll off Vax's tongue. He makes a mental note to research the language later. He feels a slight blush across his cheeks, and quickly turns from the Inquisitor hoping he hasn't noticed, when a jolt of pain sears across his head again. He hisses and clenches his fists around the bed sheet.
"Are you alright, Dorian?" Vax asks softly. The pain ceases, but Dorian is left with a numbness stinging at his fingertips. He lets out a small chuckle.
"You sit there with not one but two grave injuries, and yet you are worried about my headache?" He asks incredulously. Positively vexing.
"My injuries are being tended to, in no small part thanks to you." Vax'ildan argues. "It's only fair that I extend the same courtesy to you however I can."
"Ah, how very kind of you, Inquisitor." Dorian nods to the elf.
"Vax." the elf corrects him.
"Vax'ildan." Dorian counters. Vax seems to accept this compromise. A pained expression crosses his face, and he drops his gaze for a moment. When he brings his eyes back to Dorian's they are shining.
"Ma serannas…thank you, for saving me." His expression would be pitiful if it wasn't so full of sincerity. Dorian can feel his own eyes begin to sting in response. "I wouldn't be here…be alive…if it weren't for you. That is a debt I am not sure I will ever be able to repay."
"Not necessary, Inqui - Vax'ildan. I wasn't going to let you…" He trails off for a moment, unable to finish his thought. "A job needed to be done, and I did it."
"Dorian…" Vax starts to speak, but Dorian cuts him off.
"Besides, an Inquisition without its esteemed figurehead just seems rather silly. And I wasn't about to let someone else like Bull have a run at the role, or worse still, Cullen." He quips, deflecting. "Maker's breath, could you imagine - "
"Dorian!" Vax cuts him off. "Your nose is bleeding."
Dorian reaches a hand up to his top lip and feels something warm. He looks down and sees blood on his hand. Blood covering his robes, sticking to his skin, dripping from the blades of the daggers. Pouring from different wounds…too much…it's all too much. He can feel his heart rate pick up and his hands begin to shake. His breath comes out shallow and ragged and his vision starts to tunnel.
"Dorian!?" Vax's voice is muffled and distant, the sound of blood thrumming in his ears drowning out everything else. "Jessa! Albert!" He can faintly hear Vax calling for the healers as the world closes in around him and darkness swallows him whole.
A dull throb radiates around Dorian's head from the base of his skull to his temples and he is hit with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. He opens his eyes and sees the stone ceiling and wooden beams of the makeshift infirmary once again. His hands are numb, but no longer shaking. He tries to sit, but a hand presses him back down.
"I'm sorry, my lord. But you must lie down." Albert was standing over him, his free hand pressing a cold rag to Dorian's forehead. He felt a chill as a bead of water dripped down his temple and into his ear.
"Just once I'd like to open my eyes and not be in this bloody broom closet." Dorian snaps. He hears a snicker and turns his head to see Vax'ildan stifling a smile. After a few moments, he can't hold it anymore and the laugh turns into a harsh cough. Albert turns on his heels, closing the small gap to the Inquisitor's bedside.
"Please, your holiness." He says, forcing Vax back onto his back. "You must rest! Your injuries…"
"I'll be fine." Vax waives him off, regaining his composure. Albert moves to grab something across the room and Dorian gets a full view of Vax'ildan. He is wearing simple tan pants, similar to the one's Dorian has been dressed in, and is shirtless. For a brief moment, Dorian is stunned. He sits there for a moment, taking in the sight of toned muscles and tanned skin.
Fresh white bandages wrap around his waist and across his chest. He has a matching bandage wrapped tightly around his throat. Dorian can see red spilling through the bandages at his waist and his heart lurches.
"What happened?!" He says, eyes wide.
"Your nose was bleeding, and you started to go all white." Vax'ildan explains, voice still scratchy and raw. "I tried shouting for help, but no one could hear me. You tried to move, but started to fall, and would have landed on the floor. I caught you."
"Ripping your wound open with the strain! You know you are too weak to move around, your worship." Albert chastises.
"And what was I supposed to do? Let him fall!? Why weren't you nearby in case something like this happened?" Vax retorts harshly, startling Albert.
"Now, now, don't scare the poor boy." Dorian says. "He's going to shit his pants, just look at him."
Albert turns a bright shade of red and stares at the floor.
Vax lets out a frustrated sigh.
"Sorry, Albert. I didn't mean to lose my temper." His voice is calm again.
"Not a problem, your grace." Albert says to the stone tiles. He gives a slight bow before heading out the door and down the hall.
Dorian watches Albert leave before turning back to Vax'ildan.
"Are you alright?" He nods to the elf's bleeding abdomen. "Does that hurt?"
"I'm fine, Dorian." Vax reassures him lazily as he settles back down on his cot. "I am not so fragile, you know."
"So I see." Dorian answers. A look passes between the two and the air grows thick. Vax'ildan's golden eyes seem to stare into Dorian's soul, urging him to reveal his deepest secrets. There's an innocence and vulnerability to it - like two souls seeing each other for the first time. Time seems to unravel around them, both men losing themselves to the moment.
Dorian begins to feel the familiar ping of panic, and becomes all too aware of the scene playing out. He breaks his gaze away from Vax'ildan, who shrinks almost imperceptibly. He closes his eyes, shutting himself off from the world and the swirl of feelings stirring inside of him.
Vax opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it again.
"I seem to recall the addition of some very rare vintages to the wine cellar recently." Dorian says, trying to alleviate the tension that has begun to build. "What do you say we stroll down there and sample some of them? I'm curious to know what you southerners consider a refined palate." He adds with a wink.
"You'll do no such thing." The healer, Jessa, chooses that exact moment to round the corner into the room. She casts a scolding look at Dorian. "The Inquisitor still needs his rest."
"Yes, Dorian, how naughty." Vax'ildan quips. His voice is dry and cracked a bit, causing Jessa to turn her glare to him. He tries to hold back a cough, but the strain causes pain to flare in his abdomen and he winces unintentionally.
Jessa's lips stretch into a tight line. She reaches over to a cup sitting on a table next to Vax'ildan's bed and brings it to his lips with a stern look.
"Drink." She instructs. "You've already agitated your wound, and you are in no condition to add additional stress at this time." She shoots another glare at Dorian.
"Halam'shivanas!" Vax calls as he lifts the bottle into the air, then downs the contents. He looks up at Jessa with a frown and wipes his lips.
"You put something in this." He accuses light heartedly. Jessa rolls her eyes and takes the empty cup from the Inquisitor.
"You need to rest, your holiness. It's just a simple healing drought."
He looks back over to Dorian, attempting to feign surprise.
"Don't drink the water!" He quips with a wink. Dorian clutches imaginary pearls.
"I wouldn't dare! I do my best not to drink anything that hasn't been aging in a barrel for at least 10 years." He reports with a playful smile.
"I'm glad you're ok." A lazy smile plays across Vax's face. He yawns, the healing drought slowly lulling him to sleep. He lowers down, laying his head on the pillow below him.
"And I, you, friend." Dorian smiles back softly.
"This is a tad awkward, but how exactly did I end up here…the first time, I mean?" Dorian asks after a few moments, looking down at his cot. Jessa turns a bright shade of pink and busies herself smoothing Vax's linens.
"You…erm…passed out, My Lord." She says softly over her shoulder. "Across the hall in the washroom. Albert found you and we brought you in here."
Poor Albert is having a rough couple of days. He thought to himself. He flashes back to the pop of pain he felt, and remembers that he was wearing little else than a towel at the time, meaning Albert got much more than the young lad probably bargained for performing his daily duties.
"Ah." He replies.
"Mmyou've gottagreat ass!" Vax calls, his words beginning to slur under the weight of the drought. His eyes are half closed, but the elf seems determined to get the quip out before fully succumbing to the effects of the potion. Jessa turns and walks out of the room, embarrassment clear on her face. "I saw it!" he adds cheekily.
"I do! I'm glad you noticed!" Dorian laughs. He watches as Vax'ildan's breathing slows and his head softly falls fully onto the pillow beneath him as he drifts off to sleep. The tiniest smile starts to twitch at the edges of Dorian's mouth. He turns his head back toward the ceiling and closes his eyes, matching his breaths to the Inquisitor's. Not much else to do at this point except get some rest. He thinks to himself before drifting off.
The Elven words in this chapter are taken from the Dragon Age Wiki:
Halam'shivanas - The sweet sacrifice of duty
Ma serannas - Thank you/my thanks
Lethallin - friend