Summary:
When the Inquisitor is wounded in battle, Dorian does everything in his power to save him - struggling with both his limitations as a mage and his feelings for Lavellan he has been trying desperately to ignore.
This is my first fic ever so please bear with me while I stumble through this!
Blood and dust fill the air around Dorian as he fights off a group of Venatori. His eyes sweep across the landscape as he tries to account for everyone in between spells. Cassandra and Bull are a few hundred feet away tackling their own group of cultists. He turns away from them, eyes still searching for the Inquisitor who is currently nowhere to be seen. He feels his pulse quicken and shakes his head; Lavellan is a master of stealth, if Dorian can't see him that means neither can their enemy.
A small crack behind him causes Dorian to jump and swing around, staff pointing at his potential assailant. A familiar chuckle emanates from the cloud of smoke now before him, as the Inquisitor steps forward smirking, one of his daggers buried in the back of a Venatori rebel now slumping to the ground.
"Watch your back, Pavus," The Inquisitor chuckles, wiping his dagger on the body beneath him before sliding it back into its sheath, "That guy almost took your pretty little head off."
Most of the fighting has died down at this point, Cassandra and Bull picking off the last few stragglers. Dorian rolls his eyes and lets out a huff, carefully stepping away from his dead countrymen lest he soil his silk robes with his blood.
"And I do so enjoy my head! It's one of my best features aside from my great ass," He winks. "I suppose you'll want to celebrate your astonishing victory here today?" Dorian pokes mockingly. "We can have Bull parade you around the field on his shoulders if that seems fanfare enough."
Lavellan laughs. "To be honest, I would love a nice meal and a hot bath back at Skyhold. But I suppose a parade will do for now," He pauses for a moment before crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at Dorian "Although I admit, I think Bull's shoulders might be a bit too firm for my comfort."
Dorian lets out his first true laugh in a very long time. He leans against his staff, relaxing into the calm after the anxiety of battle. He turns toward the Inquisitor, admiring how the setting sun reflects against his golden eyes making them glow like the embers of a fire. He watches as a bead of sweat trails from his temple down to his jawline, and follows the line down lingering on his lips, currently still in a tight smirk. After a couple seconds too long, Dorian finally pulls his gaze away and clears his throat.
If Lavellan notices or cares he makes no remark. Dorian can feel his heart rate pick up a bit. The pair have been trading flirty comments and looks off and on since he arrived at Haven. Dorian is known to have a flair for the dramatic and can never pass up the opportunity to engage in witty banter with whoever is around to take the bait. The Inquisitor is naturally charismatic and gives back every bit that Dorian, or anyone else for that matter sent out.
While he enjoyed their causal flirtations, something in the back of his mind secretly wanted more. Of course, he was not ready to face those feelings yet - or ever - so he shoved it all neatly into a little box and pretended it didn't exist. He hasn't allowed himself to be hurt by these feelings his entire life, and he wasn't about to start now.
"Dorian, where did you go?" Lavellan was waving a hand gently in front of his face as Dorian snapped back to the present moment. Maker, please tell me I wasn't staring at him this entire time, Dorian thought to himself.
"Apologies, Inquisitor," Dorian quickly regained his composure, slapping on a flawless, carefree smile, "I was just imagining how lovely a hot bath would be. Especially with some nice soothing salts and oils. I believe I have had enough of these muck-filled excursions to last a lifetime." He began dusting off his robes, a grimace working its way onto his face. "I'm far too handsome to be this sweaty."
He caught a flash of something in the Inquisitor's eyes as a playful smirk crept back on to his face. He leaned in closer to Dorian, opening his mouth to speak when a cloud of smoke erupted behind him. It took Dorian's brain a moment to catch up to the scene playing out before him, but once it did everything started moving in slow motion.
A figure emerges from the smoke cloud directly behind the Inquisitor - a rogue Venatori who had managed to slip unnoticed between them until now. Dorian's eyes go wide as he sees the daggers already moving in his hands. The rogue's hands move so quickly in a flurry of blades and Dorian hears a squishing sound that turns his stomach.
The Inquisitor stiffens and a strange sound leaves his throat, almost like a gurgle. One of his hands reaches up and shakily comes away bloody. He stares wide eyed at Dorian for a moment before falling limply to his knees. Dorian snaps back to reality and closes the distance between him and the Inquisitor, catching him against his chest as he falls limply forward onto his robes.
"Inquisitor…?" Dorian looks down at the man in his arms, still unable to fully grasp the reality of what is happening. His heartbeat is so loud in his ears it drowns out almost everything else. He can faintly hear Cassandra and Bull's exclamations somewhere in the distance getting closer. There is something wet and warm seeping into his robes. He places a hand on the Inquisitor's back and notices something protruding from his leathers.
Suddenly everything becomes painfully clear. There are two daggers sticking into the Inquisitor's back. Dorian carefully takes the Inquisitor's shoulders and pushes him back to assess the injuries to his front. A long, jagged wound travels across his lower abdomen, and Dorian's breath catches in his throat. The Inquisitor makes another faint gurgling noise and Dorian's eyes snap to the gash carved across his throat. Both wounds are gushing blood, and even with his minimal amount of healing training he knows each wound alone is enough to be fatal.
"We must get to the Inquisitor!" Dorian hears Cassandra call from somewhere behind him. "Stop him, he's getting away!"
"I've got him, Boss." Bull's voice is full of fury as he barrels past Dorian.
Dorian's head snaps up. After the Inquisitor fell, he completely forgot everything else. He immediately spots the Venatori rogue dashing away, prepping another smoke bomb to make his escape. His eyes turn a deep purple as fury and hatred rise in him. One hand lifts from the Inquisitor's back and shoots straight out towards the fleeing Venatori.
"No you don't, you bastard!" Dorian shouts unleashing his hex. The fleeing Venatori freezes in place, completely immobilized by Dorian's curse. Bull closes the distance within seconds and Dorian shifts his attention back to the man growing weaker in his arms. The Inquisitor struggles slightly against him, and appears to be attempting to speak. Dorian gently places a hand on the wound at his throat, pouring healing magic as quickly as he physically can.
"Shh, I wouldn't advise talking just now, Inquisitor," Dorian coos softly. "There are loads of people who will be very cross with me if I let you bleed out in a marsh." He tries his best to keep his voice steady and calm, but can't help but hear the shaking in his words.
Lavellan's eyes close and he leans in to Dorian's touch, the magic soothing the pain. He may not be able to completely close these wounds, but he can at least make sure the Inquisitor is more comfortable while he works out a better plan.
Cassandra has removed the sash around her waist and begins tying it around the Inquisitor, attempting to staunch some of the bleeding from his abdomen. Dorian offers her a look of thanks and nods grimly.
"We are about thirty minutes from the forward camp," Cassandra notes, "They won't have a healer, but they will have some healing potions and bandages. That should be enough to keep him stable until we get back to Skyhold, yes?" She asks, but it sounds more like a command.
"I can't say anything for certain, but I believe that will give him his best chance." Dorian replies sternly, not looking up from the Inquisitor. The bleeding has slowed a little from his throat and the sash seems to be working against his abdomen. For now. "We still need to stabilize him otherwise none of that will matter."
"Just tell us what you need." Bull adds, joining the group and finally taking in the damage. "Shit. That doesn't look good."
"Very astute, Bull," Dorian chides, mockingly, "I don't suppose you have anything we can use to bandage the wounds on his back? I'm going to need to remove those daggers."
The sound of ripping fabric fills the air for a few moments. Bull holds up shreds of his pants without saying anything. Dorian takes them while a tight smile and a nod.
"The Venatori…were you able to catch him?" Cassandra looks up at Bull, who nods.
"Yeah, thanks to some help from Dorian's creepy ass hex." He points to the lifeless body a few yards away.
The two continue to talk, mostly to distract themselves, but Dorian tunes them out, laser focused on the task at hand. He gently shifts the Inquisitor a little to allow for a better view of the daggers. He winces at the sight of them, rage building in him anew, before taking a steadying breath. From where they sit, it looks like they managed to miss major arteries, thank the Maker. The leathers the Inquisitor is wearing seem to be thick enough to keep the blades from piercing his lungs as well, another good sign.
Dorian shifts his hands gently to the Inquisitor's back, pouring healing magic into the wounds. Lavellan seems to have passed out, a small relief as Dorian knows how much this is about to hurt. Once the bleeding has slowed from the first wound, he carefully wraps a hand around the hilt. He gives a slight tug, careful to pull straight and avoid any twists or turns, and the blade slides out cleanly. Blood lazily drips out of the newly opened hole and Dorian lets out a small sigh. It seems that this dagger, at least, did not penetrate too deep. He begins to carefully wrap the first strip of fabric around the Inquisitor's torso and secures it tightly on his back to staunch the wound before turning his attention to the second blade.
He feels sweat starting to form on his brow. Channeling this much magic is strenuous, his mana already partially depleted from the fight. He can already feel exhaustion trying to creep in, but he pushes it away. Dorian has made so many mistakes in his life. This will not be one of them. He will not fail.
Moving one hand down to channel more healing magic into the final wound, Dorian takes his other and begins to pull the last blade free. It catches on something, and he momentarily panics, before realizing that it has snagged on a strip of leather, not the Inquisitor's delicate skin. He pulls the blade free and throws it to the side with a clank, then sets to work bandaging up the wound with the last of the fabric.
Once all areas have been addressed, Dorian carefully winds himself around, aligning himself behind the Inquisitor and bringing his shoulders backwards so that he rests with his back against Dorian's chest. He cups a cheek in a shaking hand and brushes away a stray lock of ebony hair. The Inquisitor's eyes are closed, an almost peaceful expression on his face. His normally tan skin is pallid and pale, and blood has matted his hair around his neck. Instead of his heart melting smirk, there is a small red trickle down the corner of his mouth.
He never realized before just how small the Inquisitor is. Sitting here, feeling the full weight of his petite elven frame, Dorian lets out a small whimper. He feels tears begin to sting his eyes and he shakes his head, shoving the emotions away and giving way once again to reason and logic. The Inquisitor is stable, for Maker knows how long, and they need to get moving.
He reaches down into his satchel and feels around before pulling out a couple glass bottles. He has two lyrium potions with him - it's going to have to be enough to get him to the forward camp. He should be able to resupply there. Hopefully. He uncorks one and downs it, feeling the refreshing surge of mana flowing back into him, and his resolve swells.
Dorian stands, awkwardly fumbling and trying to keep the Inquisitor as steady as possible while getting to his feet. Bull steps forward and bends to pick him up, but Dorian places a hand on his arm to stop him.
"Please," His voice comes out almost a whisper, "Let me." He begins to carefully scoop the Inquisitors lithe frame into his arms. Bull shoots him a strange look, not letting go right away.
"Uh…you sure, chief? It's a hell of a trek back to the camp."
"That's quite chivalrous of you, Bull, but unless you can produce healing magic during the journey I insist you let me handle this." Dorian steps up, ready to take the full weight of the Inquisitor from Bull. Bull hesitates for a moment before giving a nod and gently lowering Lavellan into his arms. " Not that I don't enjoy watching you flex those muscles."
"We need to hurry." Cassandra called to the men, already walking toward the path.
Dorian gave himself a moment to get used to the feel of the Inquisitor in his arms. He wasn't one for physical excursions typically, but magic aside he wanted to do this. He needed to. Looking down at the broken frame of the man he had grown to care for shook him to his very core. He was determined to save him. He would not let the Inquisitor fall today. With a physical strength he never knew he had, Dorian strode confidently after Cassandra, lovingly pouring healing magic into the elf as they walked.
[** Forward Camp **]
The thirty minute walk felt more like hours to Dorian.
By the time the group makes it to the campsite, his arms are shaking both from the physical exertion of carrying the Inquisitor and the magical exhaustion of constantly healing throughout their journey. Once they make it to the tents Bull gently takes Lavellan from Dorian and lays him on one of the cots. Dorian gives him a thankful half smile and collapses into a nearby chair.
Inquisition officers immediately flood the area carrying bandages and potions, ready to help however they can. Soft gasps and whispers begin to permeate the camp, but Cassandra quickly settles them down.
"Now is not the time for panic," She addresses the crowd confidently, "The Inquisitor is badly injured, but we will save him."
Dorian takes a moment to admire her ability to stay calm in the face of the unthinkable. He then wipes the sweat from his brow and shakily gets back to his feet, crossing the few feet of space between him and the cot the Inquisitor is laying on. He sweeps his eyes across the elf's frame, before rolling up his sleeves.
"His bandages need to be replaced." He calls out calmly, trying his best to match the authority in Cassandra's voice. The strips of fabric have completely bled through at this point. He reaches down and gingerly begins to pull at the knots as officers scurry to his side with clean water, rags, and bandages. His hands are shaking so badly it's hard for him to grip the knots.
He stops for a moment, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath, gathering every bit of resolve left in his body. Just get the wounds cleaned and fresh bandages on. He tells himself. Get him stable enough to get to the real healers. He needs you. When he opens his eyes again, his hands are steady.
Over the next several minutes, Dorian carefully and painstakingly cleans and dresses the wounds across the Inquisitor's neck and abdomen. There is so much blood caked on his neck and torso, Dorian genuinely cannot think about it. If he starts to take it in, see this as real, he will lose his very thin grip on reality and crumple into a useless heap on the ground.
So instead he looks past the blood and gore, focusing on the tight pull of skin across his neck, the small portion of his vallaslin that runs down from his chin to the small bulge in his neck. He feels a sudden need to place a soft kiss there, as if the tender brush of his lips could help stitch the supple skin back together.
He snaps back to reality, remembering the literal camp full of onlookers surrounding him, and treads a hand gently behind the Inquisitor's neck. Bracing his neck and upper shoulders, Dorian lifts the Inquisitor to better dress the wounds on his back, thankful again that these are less serious.
He carefully washes the dried blood from the elf's long, ebony hair before tying it to one side to secure it out of the way. Wounds cleaned and re-bandaged, Dorian gently set the Inquisitor's head back down, fussing with the pillows to make sure he has adequate neck support.
He thanks everyone for their help before ushering them out of the area and grabbing another bottle of lyrium. He downs the bottle while pulling the fabric walls down around the tent frame, allowing himself and the Inquisitor some privacy, then spends the next several minutes pouring every last bit of healing magic he has into the elf.
After he feels certain that the Inquisitor is at least stable, he runs a gentle hand across the Inquisitor's forehead. It is damp and clammy, but still an improvement. He softly traces the lines of his vallaslin, taking in the curves and details in a way he never had before.
Has all of this happened in the last hour? Dorian tries to think back to the flirty banter the two of them were sharing moments before all of this. How did they miss the Venatori? How could he have missed something so vital? He should have sensed him, should have known. Hells, he was one of the foremost experts in Chronomancy, he should have seen it coming.
With a frustrated huff, Dorian plops down into the chair next to the cot. Of course he couldn't have seen this coming. There was no sense in blaming himself, or anyone else for that matter. Not right now. The Venatori had been dealt with, and brutally from what Dorian remembers of the corpse.
A small groan, almost a whimper, shakes Dorian from his thoughts. He shoots forward in his seat, a hand instinctively reaching to connect with the elf in front of him. Small, callused fingers gently curl around his, barely strong enough to register. Lavellan's eyelashes flutter, but his eyes never fully open.
"...Dorian," The Inquisitor's voice is like a whisper on the wind. For a moment Dorian is not sure he even actually hears it. He sits stone still, afraid to miss any signs or words.
"Rest, Inquisitor. You're going to ruin all my work." He speaks softly, afraid to disturb the air.
Lavellan winces slightly before falling still once again. With one hand still clutched delicately in his, Dorian draws his other hand up to stroke the Inquisitor's forehead sweetly. He listens to the gentle rise and fall of the Inquisitor's breaths, no longer ragged and strained. After a few moments, he feels the fatigue from the day catch up to him, sits back in the chair and allows sleep to overtake him at last.
Thanks for reading!
I know it's a little rough, but I am open to comments or suggestions (as long as they are constructive).
I'm not sure how long this will be yet, so stay tuned for more if you're so inclined :)