Author's Note: The original file for this chapter was too long to upload, so I had to split it into two chapters. So please enjoy a drop of Chapters 4 and 5 at the same time so you can have the full thing at once!
When Dorian wakes again, his head is no longer throbbing. The numbness he felt in his hands has worked its way up his arms and to his shoulders. He sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes. Looking over he sees that the Inquisitor's cot is empty, bed linens neatly folded at the end of the bed. He feels a twinge of sadness tug at him. He had rather enjoyed his time alone with Vax'ildan, however fleeting it had been.
Albert knocks softly on the door before entering, holding a pitcher.
"Ah, you're awake." He greets Dorian with a small smile. "How's your headache?" He walks over to a small table and pours some water, handing Dorian the glass. He takes it with a nod.
"Much better, thank you." He says after a few sips. "I can finally hear myself think again. I was starting to worry that I would forget what I sound like!"
"Very good, my lord." Albert takes the empty glass from the mage.
"I see our fearless leader has finally been sprung free!" Dorian gestures to the empty cot.
"Yes, we moved him to his personal quarters this morning. Lady Vivienne cleared him - he still requires rest, but he is finally strong enough to manage on his own."
"How very fortunate." Dorian says with a smile. He stretches his arms above his head, trying to shake off the numbness that has settled in. He stands from the cot, trying not to let the growing concern about this new development show on his face. "Well, this has all been incredibly titillating, but if it's all the same, I think I'll take my leave as well."
"Of course, my lord." Albert bows slightly.
Dorian strides toward the exit, chin held high. He stops next to Albert and places a hand gently on his shoulder.
"Thank you." He says softly. "For everything. I'm sure you and Jessa don't hear it nearly as much as you should." He walks out of the room before the healer can respond, down the hall past the rest of the infirmary and out into the courtyard of Skyhold.
It seems to be about midday, the sun beaming down from the sky, providing warm patches that combat the cold mountain winds. He hears the clash of metal as some new recruits practice on the training grounds a few yards away. Scout Harding's laugh carries over from the Herald's Rest, where she is entertaining a couple of the stable hands while they nurse their pints. There's a calm, almost serene air about the place. Nothing suggests that their leader was inches from death mere days before.
Dorian starts to make his way towards the stone staircase that leads to his living quarters off the battlements, when he spots The Iron Bull sparring with Krem nearby. Cole sits on the steps, watching them in his odd, otherworldly way. Bull looks over and catches his eye, waiving him over with a grin.
"Well, shit. Looks like I owe Varric a drink!" Bull crosses his arms as Dorian approaches.
"I did warn you not to take that bet, Boss." Krem says with a laugh. "Just couldn't help yourself."
"You know I can't resist a challenge!"
Dorian closes the distance between the men, a smile spreading onto his face unintentionally.
"What's this I hear? Someone losing money on my account?" He asks. "Serves you right for betting against me!"
"You don't even know what we bet on!" Varric appears down the steps from the main castle, approaching the group.
"Even so!" Dorian's hands rest on his hips incredulously.
"Easy Sparkler," Varric soothes. "Bull and I just had a little wager on how long you'd be out after your stunt with the Inquisitor. Honestly, I thought I was getting the raw end of the deal, seeing as Bull was there with you, but this is one instance I am happy to have been wrong."
"Missed it by one day!" Bull sighs, feigning sadness.
"Anyway, glad to see you're up and about, Sparkler. You had us worried."
Dorian brings his hands to his heart sarcastically.
"Aw, you were worried about little old me? How touching. I assure you, I had the entire situation completely under control." He smiles, but Bull seems to see through him for a moment. The Qunari's face drops as the pair of them relive the moment again, remembering how far from the truth Dorian's quip is. Both quickly recover before either Varric or Krem catches on.
"Come on, let's go get you that drink." Bull nods to Varric who turns and walks into the tavern gloating to Krem, who follows behind. Bull turns to look at Dorian. "You wanna join us, chief?"
"Ah, I think not." He says apologetically. "No, I think it's time for me to find a change of clothes." He looks down at the simple beige tunic and plain tan pants the healers had dressed him in. "These are doing nothing for my figure." He winks at Bull who snorts.
"Suit yourself." Bull shrugs. He walks a few paces forward before turning back around. "I'm real glad you're ok, Dorian. You're one tough son of a bitch."
For once, Dorian is at a loss for words. After a few moments, Bull turns and walks into the Herald's Rest and Dorian turns to head up the stairs. Cole is staring at Dorian from a few steps up, eyes wide under shaggy blonde hair.
"Sadness. Sorrow. Panic. I can't feel it. Why can't I feel it? Stinging numbness, threatening to swallow the spark whole and make everything dark."
Dorian tries his best not to be rattled by the boy. He has grown used to Cole's ways, but it still startles him whenever the spirit decides to turn his ever beguiling skills towards him.
"Ah, hello, Cole." Dorian nods, attempting to side-step him on the stairs. Cole swings around as he passes.
"You are more than just this thing, Dorian." Cole adds cryptically. "It cannot drown out the part of you that is you."
Dorian's foot catches on the stair in front of him, and he almost stumbles. He hated how Cole had a tendency to find your biggest insecurities and bring them to the surface when all you want to do is lock them away and ignore them. It's like the world's worst mirror, personified. Of course in his own innocent, macabre way, he was just trying to help.
"Thank you, Cole." Dorian sighs. He doesn't have the strength to belabor the point. "I'll keep that in mind." He begins to climb the stairs once more.
"He sees your spark too." Cole's words are carried over his shoulder on the wind - the spirit no longer in sight. Dorian continues to his room without looking back.
Once inside, he closes the door and stands in complete silence. His room smells like soft leather, mint, and oranges. He takes a deep breath, trying to center himself. He shakes out his arms, which are stinging like pins and needles, and walks over to his wardrobe. He runs his hands along the various hanging robes, admiring the silks, satins and velveteens.
Dorian takes off the rough cotton clothing he has spent the last few days in. He folds them neatly, running a hand over the scratchy fabric before gently placing them in a dresser drawer. The garments are horrid - ill fitting and cheaply made - but they remind him of those fleeting moments he got to spend with Vax'ildan.
He buries them under a pile of silk scarves, hiding them from sight. Ultimately unnecessary, but a holdout habit from his childhood. He used to hide all manner of things from his parents - letters, trinkets, thoughtful gifts given to him by other boys - anything that would be seen as shameful should the gossip make it outside of their estate. He had gotten rather good at hiding parts of himself, squirreling them away from the world, only bringing them out when he was sure no one was around to see. He slides the drawer closed, locking away the clothing and the confusing feelings that have become attached to them.
He steps into fresh pants - royal sea silk instead of rough cotton - and pulls on a tunic of plush ring velvet before wrapping himself in one of his mage robes made of darkened samite and ram leather. Each piece is adorned with intricate laces and straps. He fumbles with the clasps slightly, the numbness in his hands making his normally delicate movements awkward and clunky. Silverite metalwork catches the light, bouncing it playfully around him from every angle. He slips on his boots and strides over to the mirror to study himself.
The image looking back at him is a significant improvement to the one he saw the last time he saw himself. The dark circles are gone and his skin has a dewy glow to it once more. He grabs a small comb decorated with filigree and pearl and runs it through his thick locks to tame them back into place. Once satisfied, he reaches for a small golden pot and drags the kohl between his lashes across his lash line. Finally, he takes a small glass bottle and spritzes on some fresh cologne. This particular scent is a lovely combination of sandalwood and cardamom with just a hint of citrus.
Stinging numbness, threatening to swallow the spark whole and make everything dark. Cole's eerie insights creep their way back into his mind. Is that what was happening to him? He looks down at his hands and clenches his fists. He closes his eyes and reaches out for the ever present tendrils of the Fade. He is met with an emptiness so profound he actually gasps out loud. What in Andraste's name is happening to him?
He bites back the fear threatening to overwhelm him once more. He is far too smart a man to let himself fall victim to unsubstantiated worry. He has access to one of the largest libraries in the South, and he is determined to put it to good use. Surely there is at least one tome in this place that touches on the theory of the Fade. Of course, there is one resident at Skyhold that claims to be the foremost expert on the Fade, but Dorian would rather avoid the strange elf for as long as possible. He didn't need Solas' ego getting any bigger than it already was, especially not on his behalf.
He allows himself one more moment of preening before turning to leave his room. He follows the path across the battlements to a small wooden door connecting to the main part of the castle. This leads him to a large stone balcony overlooking the main hall of Skyhold. Large stained glass windows frame a picturesque view of the snow capped mountains just outside the keep.
He continues across through a second set of wooden doors into a circular tower and is greeted by the best smell in the entire world - books. The dim candlelight and hushed tones of passersby draw him in like a moth to a flame. He crosses the room to the familiar corner he has claimed for himself. There's a small stack of books sitting in the chair - a couple of things he had picked up for some light reading before their previous mission. He moves the stack to the floor out of the way for now.
Dorian spends the rest of the day scouring the library for any books he can find regarding the Fade. After a few hours, he has several stacks of books piled up on the table by his nook. He has several pages of neatly written notes scattered around as he meticulously combs through each tome for anything that might be of use.
He finds frustratingly little useful information, but is determined to keep going. He starts to feel a familiar numbness creeping into his chest and tries to push away the panic once more. There has to be something he is missing. He stands and walks over to the banister in the middle of the tower. From here he can see Solas in his room below, hunched over his desk and scribbling notes about some ancient elven something or other. It would be so simple to walk down the stairs and ask Solas for help. But Dorian is a proud man, and is not willing to admit that he is out of his depth…yet. With a sigh, he heads back over to his table and picks up the next book.
He works well into the night, crouched over the table, a small candle the only source of light in the room. This is not an unfamiliar situation for him. In fact, it's rather nostalgic. He spent Maker knows how many nights cramped at a table similar to this one during his time in the Circles back in Tevinter. He can't remember how many times he was scolded for breaking curfew to read restricted books in the library.
And then, of course, there were the late nights he had spent pouring himself into his work with his patron, Alexius. How many times had Felix found him passed out in an armchair, notes strewn about the place, a glass of wine on the side table? Dorian would stir as Felix carefully covered him with a blanket, and would excitedly explain how he was so close to a breakthrough before ultimately falling back asleep moments later.
Of course, those were all much simpler times. There wasn't a giant demon belching hole in the sky, or an ancient Tevinter magister threatening to destroy all of Thedas back then. And there certainly hadn't been the soul crushing fear of a reality where he has lost the one thing he cherished most in this world. The thing that defines everything that he is, and provides him with a purpose and a sense of direction and belonging. Simpler times, indeed.
Dorian continues working diligently late into the night. Eventually, the small candle on the table snuffs out in a final puff. At some point, Dorian succumbs to sleep, head gently landing on an open book on the table and notes still scattered around him.