Dorian rubs his eyes groggily as he begins to wake up. He lets out a small groan, his muscles are stiff from sleeping in the wooden chair at a peculiar angle. Slowly, he rolls his neck and shoulders in an attempt to alleviate some of the discomfort. Glancing out the front of the tent he sees pinks and oranges in the sky mixing with the unnatural green glow of the breach, the sun barely peeking over the horizon.
Outside the tent he can hear Inquisition officers preparing for the day, their voices hushed so as to not disturb anyone still asleep. He looks at the foot of the Inquisitor's cot and notices that someone has left a stack of fresh bandages and potions on top of a small crate. His heart warms at the gesture.
When he came south to join the Inquisition, he wasn't exactly sure of the company he would be keeping. He had heard that southerners could be quite cold and unwelcoming, especially towards those outside of Fereldan, but he has been pleasantly surprised by most members of the Inquisition so far.
Shaking off the last bit of sleep, Dorian stands and begins to assess the Inquisitor's condition. The slightest hint of color has crept back into his skin, but not enough to put Dorian's mind at ease. He wasn't out of the woods by a long shot. Their only hope was that his magic would be enough to stabilize the Inquisitor on the day's ride back to Skyhold.
He lets out an incredulous huff. So close. They are so close to the safety of their mountain fortress, it almost seems more cruel that this would happen now, like some sort of sick joke from the Maker. His entire world - and the safety of all of Thedas for that matter - could be crushed into oblivion a day's ride from Skyhold. How poetic.
Dorian gathers the fresh supplies and returns to the Inquisitor's side. Gently turning the elf's fragile form, Dorian begins the process of treating the two stab wounds on his back. Pulling off the old bandages, a small sigh of relief escapes his lips. The top wound is already covered in tight, pink skin, closed off completely. The lower wound looks like it will follow with the next wave of healing.
The Inquisitor will have some striking new scars to brag about, should he make it through his whole ordeal. Dorian thinks to himself before he quickly snaps his eyes shut and curses under his breath. When. When he makes it through this whole ordeal.
He reaches down and places a palm over both wounds and begins the now familiar ritual of healing. He is not sure of the last time he has used this much magic over such a short period of time. He is not particularly interested in learning the limitations of his power, especially considering the circumstances.
Satisfied with the state of those injuries, he shifts the small frame back down and reluctantly turns his attention to the Inquisitor's front. Fury flares again as he takes in the horrors in the early morning light. His normally tan skin is stained with dark red blood across his neck and torso. Black and purple bruises circle the deep gashes, creating a grotesque outline and highlighting the ferocity of the Venatori's initial attacks.
The bastard used the last two attacks for what, overkill? Panache? Dorian thinks to himself darkly. He is suddenly extremely grateful for the pitiful pulp Bull had beaten the assailant into. It was still less than he deserved.
Dorian softly traces a finger around the deep gash across the Inquisitor's throat. He is much more strategic with his healing this time. Yesterday had been all about staunching as much of the bleeding as quickly as possible. Today he needs to be more precise, both to better focus on actual healing versus simply stabilizing as well as preserving his mana supply so he can maintain the healing for as long as possible without needing lyrium.
With surgeon-like precision he carefully folds lines of healing magic around the Inquisitor's neck attempting fruitlessly to stitch the wounds together with the raw magic of the Fade. He is able to prevent the wound from bleeding continuously, but he was not trained in the healing arts and did not have the appropriate skill set to perform such tedious magic. Dorian holds back a dark laugh - all the training available to him back in Tevinter, all the private tutors and prestigious schools, and he is still utterly worthless.
Clenching his fingers into a tight fist, he moves down to the jagged wound on the Inquisitor's torso. He lets his fingers unfurl again, magic flowing as his heart fills slowly with rage and self-loathing. If there is one feeling Dorian hates more than anything else in this world, it's feeling helpless.
"How is he?" Cassandra is standing at the door of the tent hesitantly. Dorian can tell by the bags under her eyes and her unusually unkempt appearance that she did not get much sleep. He understood; had it not been for his body's physical exhaustion forcing him into unconsciousness, he is not sure he would be in any better state than the Seeker.
"Alive." He replies plainly as he finishes securing the fresh bandages. He hears her let out a sigh of relief, then a slight sniffle that he pretends not to notice.
"We should get moving," She states, composing herself, "If we are to reach Skyhold before nightfall."
"I managed to find a cart and a horse...and some supplies to take on the road." Bull appears next to Cassandra and motions behind him. He looks between the two of them and lets out a small chuckle. "You both look like shit." Cassandra rolls her eyes and backs out of the doorway heading to the cart Bull mentioned. He shrugs and takes a step inside, eyes looking anywhere but at the cot in front of him.
"I'm going to get some blankets to put down." Dorian states, ignoring Bull's comment. "I would be very cross if I spent all this time and energy patching up the Inquisitor only for him to fall to a splinter." He manages to maintain his normal, over-confident air, despite feeling like he is being fractured into a thousand tiny pieces, as he strides past Bull to hunt for suitable coverings.
Bull places a hand on his shoulder as he passes, forceful but not aggressive.
"You're doing good work, chief. This would have gone a lot differently without you here."
"Yes, well…" Dorian searches for something witty to say for a moment, but finds he is too tired and gives up with a sigh. He takes a few steps towards the exit before stopping, looking back over his shoulder at the Qunari. "Thank you, Bull."
Shortly thereafter, Bull gingerly transports the Inquisitor from the cot to the cart, placing him on the soft mound of blankets Dorian has managed to scrounge up. Dorian climbs into the cart next to him, satchel packed with bandages and healing potions. He only managed to find one more lyrium potion at the camp, and he tries very hard to push the ensuing anxiety to the furthest points in his mind. This is going to be a long day.
Once Dorian and the Inquisitor are both secure in the back, Bull joins Cassandra at the front. With a final nod of gratitude to the scouts at the camp, the team sets off toward Skyhold, collectively holding their breath.
"So…has anyone thought about how we explain this one to the rest of the crew?" Bull asks after a long bout of silence. "Leliana is going to kick our asses." Cassandra and Dorian both let out a slight chuckle, thankful for the moment of levity Bull is providing for them.
"Honestly, I think I might be more frightened of Josephine." Dorian quips over his shoulder. Bull considers this for a moment before lowering his head and letting out a breath.
"Shit. You might be right."
"Of course I'm right. I'm always right."
"We need a plan to get him inside the castle." Cassandra interrupts Dorian before he can prattle on any more, eyes focused on the road ahead of them.
"Yes. I suppose it would be rather awkward bringing him in through the front gates in front of the entire Inquisition. Could you imagine the gossip?"
"Heh. Just one more stain to your already shitty reputation, Vint." Bull chortles, throwing a playful look toward the mage who rolls his eyes.
Dorian has mostly gotten used to the hushed whispers about him that constantly circulate around Skyhold. Maker knows the rumors and judgement he endured growing up in Tevinter had hardened him, allowing him to develop quite the knack for blocking out the worst of it. He is already thought of throughout the Inquisition forces as the 'evil magister here to corrupt the Inquisitor by spewing poison in his ear,' he shutters to think what showing up at the front gates with a broken and bleeding Inquisitor would do to his already abysmal reputation.
Lavellan shifts suddenly on the blankets next to him, and Dorian's attention is immediately refocused. Let the Inquisition think whatever they wanted to about him - at the end of the day, he would endure whatever rumor, judgements, and hate the entire world could spew at him if it meant that the Inquisitor was safe. Nothing else mattered.
Several hours pass in silence as the group continue their race to the castle. The sun is high in the sky at this point, bearing down on them almost suffocating. Dorian's brow is already lined with sweat from the exertion of working his spells, but he feels the back of his neck starting to burn as the sun sears onto his exposed flesh. He pours some water from his canteen onto a clean cloth and gently places it on the Inquisitor's forehead.
The elf is slightly paler than Dorian, and he pulls the covers around Lavellan's head to try to provide as much shade as possible. He runs a hand over the Inquisitor's face hovering a few inches above him, icy magic gently pouring out from his palm to help keep him cool. He isn't sure if it was making any difference, but he keeps at it anyway. There's that feeling again. Helpless.
They arrive at Skyhold as the sun lazily makes its way down toward the horizon. The view of the castle framed in golden light would be striking on any other occasion. Cassandra brings them to a stop where the service trails split off from the cobbled path that leads to the main gate. She hands the reins over to Bull and descends from the cart.
"I will gather the council and some healers and meet you at the west gate." She states, confirming the plan they have been developing over the last hour. "By the time you arrive we should have the area secured and a clear path to a private room in the infirmary."
"Krem and the rest of the Chargers can help keep any prying eyes at bay if you need." Bull suggests. Cassandra offers a curt nod before slowly turning to steal a glance at the Inquisitor. Her eyes dart away after a matter of seconds, meeting Dorian's briefly before she composes herself. She turns from the group and starts off at a jog down the main path.
Bull turns to Dorian before setting off.
"Home stretch, chief. How's that magic of yours holding up?"
Dorian looks at the empty lyrium bottle next to him longingly. He has long since passed his normal reserves of mana, and the potion he took a few hours ago has lost its effects. The fact that any magic is flowing from him at all would be utterly fascinating and worthy of study if the circumstances were not so dire.
"Just get us to the keep." He answers weakly. He is drenched in sweat and his hands are shaking uncontrollably, but Bull is kind enough to refrain from making any jokes at the mage's expense.
"Sure thing, Boss." He turns back around and guides them down the path that leads to the west gate where, hopefully, the end to this horrible nightmare awaits.
Dorian would say this - the Council works fast. In the few minutes it took Bull to navigate the service trail that looped to the infirmary, Cullen was already at the service entrance, gate already open and waiting. All other guards and attendants have been cleared out, an eerie silence hanging in the air. Cullen strides over to the cart as it pulls to a stop, lips pulled tight and his brow furrowed.
"Maker's breath." He exclaims softly as he approaches and lays eyes on the Inquisitor for the first time. He stops in his tracks, momentarily stunned. Bull is already working his way to the back of the cart.
"You've got a place ready?" Bull looks down at Cullen, shaking him out of his temporary stupor.
"Of course. Up the path and through that door." He points to a wooden door propped open up a small flight of stairs. "First right once you're inside." The ex-templar continues, still flustered.
Bull scoops up the Inquisitor, blankets and all, and begins to march toward the door without another word. Dorian follows behind him, unaware of Cullen's presence, a healing hand hovering over the bloody mess nestled in the blankets. Cullen takes a moment to shake off his shock and quickly follows them, taking the steps two at a time.
Bull rounds the corner into the room, met by Leliana, Cassandra, and two healers. Dorian follows him in, taking a look around. The room is clearly a storage room of some sort, the group have set up a bed and chair to create a makeshift room for the Inquisitor.
There was an additional cot sitting just outside the room stacked with an array of different healing potions, bandages, and medical equipment. Understandable, considering they had no idea what situation to prepare for on such short notice. He is vaguely aware of someone speaking, but it all sounds fuzzy and indiscernible.
It isn't until he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder that he realizes someone is talking to him. He looks up and meets Leliana's concerned gaze. Over her shoulder the healers are working on the Inquisitor, carefully pulling away the bandages to assess the damage fully. He looks back at Leliana, and furrows his brow.
"Apologies, what?"
"His injuries. We need to know what happened." She says softly.
"Right. Of course." Dorian shakes his head. "The wounds on his neck and abdomen need the most immediate care." He turns his attention to the healers. "There are two more on his back that have mostly been dealt with. These two are the ones I couldn't…" He stops for a moment, choking on the words before letting out a sigh. "I was able to stop the bleeding and keep him stable, but the rest is left in your charge." He bows his head respectfully toward the healers, once again feeling the full weight of his inadequacies.
"You poor thing." Leliana reaches a hand up to gently cup his cheek. "You must be exhausted." She gently applies pressure to his shoulder in an attempt to lead him out of the room. He stiffens, and shoots her an angry glare.
"I'm not leaving." He says definitely.
"Dorian, you need to rest. There's nothing else you can do for him at the moment."
He knows that her words were meant as a reassurance, but he can't help but flinch as she says them. It feels like a slap in the face. She can tell she's said the wrong thing, and offers an apologetic look. He clears his throat and looks at her with fierce determination, or as close to it as he can manage in his current state.
"There may not be anything I can do right now, but I will not leave his side until I know he is safe." He walks over and sits down dramatically in the chair next to the cot, arms folding over his chest.
Leliana nods and turns to Cassandra and Bull who are both just outside the room. Cullen is standing a few feet further down the hall.
"We need to discuss what happened." She says coolly. "To the War Room?"
"Oh for Andraste's Sake, Leliana, let them rest first. They have been traveling all day."
"Thank you, Cullen, but that is not necessary. We may debrief before resting." Cassandra says.
"Yeah, better to get it out now while it's still…fresh." Bull adds.
"Wonderful. Josie is already expecting us." Leliana strides down the hall calmly. Cullen looks back at the room and gestures.
"What about -"
"Dorian can provide additional details later, should they be needed." Cassandra cuts him off. "Unless you would like to try to convince the man to do something against his wishes?" She raises an eyebrow and Cullen lets out a sigh. He knows how stubborn the mage can be and doesn't feel like losing a fight today.
"Very well." He turns and follows the group down the hall and into the main tower.
Dorian fidgets in the chair while the healers continue their work in silence. After two straight days of intense concentration, the minutes seem to drag like hours now. Just when he thinks he is going to claw out of his own skin, he hears a tut from the door. He looks up and his eyes meet with Vivienne's, a look of disgust and disapproval pulling at her lips.
"Oh, my dear, how absolutely dreadful you are."
"Ah. Wonderful to see you, Vivienne." Dorian pastes on his slimiest smile. "I knew I felt a chill in the air."
Vivienne huffs and strides gracefully to the Inquisitor's side. Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second as she takes in the severity of his wounds. Dorian catches it, but doesn't say anything.
"You've done well stabilizing him, Dorian," She calls sweetly, hands already beginning to work magic into the elf, "Especially considering your typical lack of finesse with healing magic." Dorian's annoyed silence causes her to smirk.
"What's wrong, Darling? Not feeling up to the game today?" She looks up to glance at the mage, who is currently clenching a fist so tight his knuckles are turning white. The smirk falls from her lips, genuine concern taking over. She focuses back on the Inquisitor and continues on as normal. "There's a tub in the room across the hall. You really should take a moment to clean yourself. You look absolutely ghastly."
Dorian can hear the slight sincerity in her voice, despite her biting remarks. He realizes now he hasn't washed or changed his clothes since this whole ordeal started. He didn't even want to think about the state he was in right now. He stands and begins to walk out of the room, stopping in the doorway and glancing over his shoulder.
"Please, Vivienne…save him." He whispers.
"Of course, dear." She coos back without looking up.
He walks across the hall into the washroom and closes the door. He leans his back against the door and his shoulders begin to shake uncontrollably. He slides down the door, knees drawing to his chest as tears pour down his face. He wraps his arms around his knees and allows himself to let everything out - fear, exhaustion, sadness, stress…hope. He stays there until there is nothing left to give, and his body slowly starts to relax.
There is a small table with a basin filled with water across the room. A small mirror is affixed to the wall just above the basin. Soaps sit on a shelf along the wall next to the table along with a stack of towels. In the corner of the room is the tub Vivienne mentioned.
Dorian flicked a wrist weakly and the tub filled with water. Suddenly, he began to feel everything. The dried blood on his robes that now sticks to his skin. The dirt and sweat coating his face and hair, lodged under his fingernails. It all feels wrong. He walks to the basin and begins to scrub his hands vigorously.
He catches his reflection in the small mirror and audibly gasps. If he didn't know it was him standing there, looking in a mirror, he would not have recognized himself. His normally pristine hair is matted and disheveled. Days old kohl is smeared around his eyes, accentuated by large dark circles. Blood and dirt are splotched on his face and neck. His normally sparkling hazel eyes were dull and lifeless. His full lips were chapped and dirty.
His gaze trailed down his reflection. His once beautiful silver silk robes were now a deep red. He shutters, remembering how the Inquisitor gurgled and bled out in his arms. With shaky hands, he pulls at the straps and buttons holding the robes in place until they fall gently to the ground. His white, silk undershirt was stained with blood and sweat and it soon followed the robes, forming a pile on the floor. The knees of his pants are stained with dirt from where he had knelt to support the elf.
Sliding out of the remainder of his clothes, he turns back to the tub. Another flick of his wrist and the water warms to an acceptable temperature. He steps in and gingerly lowers down, his muscles thankful for the respite. He sits there, head resting on the rim of the tub, for several minutes before taking the soap and scrubbing every inch of himself practically raw.
Feeling more like himself, he draws himself out of the tub and towels off. His limbs are still weak and shaky, but he is now free of the dirt, sweat, and grime that had coated him like a second skin. He looks around, suddenly realizing he does not have a change of clothes with him. Vishante kaffas! He cursed himself silently. Of fucking course.
He wraps the towel tightly around his waist. He doesn't mind showing off his body - he was a rather handsome specimen after all. He considers strolling through Skyhold in the nude, thinking of all the wonderfully horrified looks he would raise on the way back to his room. It would be quite the display. But he thinks better of it in the end.
He opens the door and peeks his head out to see if there is someone nearby that could help him obtain a fresh outfit. There is a sudden sharp pop of pain at the back of his head. A hand flies to the area instinctively, but comes away clean aside from the water that dripped from his hair. Odd. He thought to himself. His eyes roll back into his head and he falls face down on the floor, unconscious.