Chapter Text
He was in warm water, so warm it was almost scorching, and Lavellan whimpered feebly at the overload of sensation. He was vaguely aware of having been stripped down to his smalls, and if he had any strength left he would have protested. But the hands and cloth on his skin were gentle, even hesitant, wiping the dirt and blood away. For some reason, he found it difficult to open his eyes. They felt almost glued shut.
“He’s practically a skeleton,” a familiar female voice said as the cloth swiped over his protruding ribs and hipbones. “You really are a tough little thing, poor dear –”
Nausea hit Lavellan like a punch to the gut and he whirled in the bath, eyes flying open in panic, leaning over the edge and vomiting blackness onto the tiles. There was a gasp from the woman and then soft, broad hands were cupping his face as he shook, gut roiling in agony. The blurred face sharpened, and Lavellan’s eyes widened as Dorian leaned closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead though there were at least two others with them. Was this the Fade; was he dreaming again? And if so, why did everything hurt so much?
“Amatus,” he whispered, and Lavellan drew in a shaky breath at the mere sound of his voice. “You’re safe now, thanks to Nira. She brought you home to us.”
Lavellan sniffled, trying to reach out and touch him, to assure himself he was real; this was real. “Dorian?”
Dorian nodded, stroking his wet hair back. “I’m so sorry I didn’t believe the message crystal, but I still…I still can hardly believe…”
Vivienne came into view, standing beside Dorian, and Lavellan immediately curled in on himself under her always-imperious gaze. It seemed a little more forgiving than usual, though. “We tested you quite thoroughly for possession, darling. That was the logical conclusion, after all – Dorian, Cassandra, and the Iron Bull all attested to your definite lack of a pulse before you were taken away.”
“And yet, his pulse has returned,” Solas said quietly, stepping out from behind her. Lavellan immediately tensed, brow lowering when he saw the bald elf, and Solas’s eyes widened imperceptibly.
Dorian looked at Lavellan worriedly. “Is something wrong?”
Lavellan played it off with a nervous chuckle. “No, just…what happened? Why am I in a bathtub surrounded by mages?”
“You’re filthy, that’s why,” Vivienne said with a sniff. “Understandable, of course – but being covered in dirt does make healing far more difficult, dear. And then there’s the matter of…that.” She looked pointedly at the black substance on the floor, wrinkling her nose.
Solas kept his tone level, head bowed slightly. “You were unconscious for several days, during which I did what I could to keep you stable while Dorian…complicated matters.”
“He was fretting like a nursemaid,” Vivienne put in helpfully. “He had to be forcibly removed from your chambers, poor thing. What a shame his specialty is necromancy – thankfully there was little use for that.”
“I was not fretting,” Dorian protested, but there was no bite behind it. His hands shook as they cupped Lavellan’s jaw. “They said you might have been…not quite yourself.” He swallowed.
“I’m still me,” Lavellan said in a small voice. “You…you said you did tests, right? And found nothing?”
The three mages exchanged looks. Solas cleared his throat. “It…is difficult to be entirely certain. So an expert was called in. He should be here any moment –”
The door burst open, and Varric walked in, beaming when he saw Lavellan. But as the dwarf came closer, Lavellan could see the bags under his eyes, the new furrows on his forehead. “Freckles! You know, I thought we discussed how your death would absolutely ruin the book. Martyrdom doesn’t suit you. Your resurrection, however…now, we’re getting somewhere.”
“Hello to you too, Varric,” Lavellan greeted quietly, offering him a slight smile. Another man followed Varric in, a tall mage with a messy blond ponytail and tired brown eyes. “And you are…?”
“Freckles, this is Anders. He was…a good friend from Kirkwall, you might recall that he –”
Lavellan scrambled to sit up, eyes wide, nearly splashing Dorian in the face. “The one who blew up the Chantry?! Varric!”
Anders sighed heavily. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Inquisitor.”
Varric folded his arms. “It’s not like we had much of a choice, Freckles. Anders is…he’s the best at what he does; best healer I know of, anyway. And you need a healer…among other things.”
“You’re here to make sure I’m not an abomination,” Lavellan mumbled. “I…see.”
Anders came forward quietly, nodding. “There is no doubt you were touched by some kind of powerful magic – whether that magic is still within you remains to be seen.” He raised an eyebrow at Dorian, who was still crouched beside Lavellan. “If I may?”
Cautiously, Dorian moved aside, biting his lip when Anders reached out and laid his palm upon Lavellan’s forehead, deep in thought. Several tense seconds passed. Then his eyes lit up – literally, lit up a faint blue. “There is…something…”
“A demon?” Vivienne asked immediately.
Anders shot her a mildly irritated look. “No,” he said. “If it were a demon, I would know.”
“A spirit, then?” Solas suggested nonchalantly.
Anders frowned, uncertain, and looked intently at Lavellan. “I don’t suppose you remember how you were revived?”
“Actually, yes,” Lavellan said.
The room erupted into confused questions. Solas said nothing. He just gazed at Lavellan silently, knowingly.
“It was Nira,” Lavellan blurted. “She…I was in…a forest.” Solas was still staring. Lavellan hurried on. “A strange forest, far away…she was breathing fire onto me, but it wasn’t…it didn’t burn? It was sort of…golden. And I couldn’t move, at first. I felt terrible.” He sank down slightly in the water. “Then…that black sludge, I kept coughing it up, and after that I could move again.”
“Golden fire?” Anders looked bewildered. “It sounds as if your dragon used healing magic – albeit a stronger form than ever seen before.”
“Wait,” Dorian cut in, excited. “You may be onto something! Cassandra told me that when Nira found them in the Wastes, she was entirely healed – but she’d just fought a high dragon before that.”
“The dragon healed herself?” Vivienne scoffed. “Darling, how preposterous. Dragons know nothing but destruction.” But she sounded a bit unsure.
“It is a curious idea,” was all Solas had to offer.
Anders hummed thoughtfully, palm still brushing over Lavellan’s forehead. “It’s not a spirit,” he finally determined, blue eyes fading, and the whole room let out a collective sigh of relief. But then Anders paused, startled. “This magic, the magic used to bring you back…Inquisitor, it is ancient. Perhaps even Elvhen. Do you think the Mark could have something to do with it?”
Lavellan shook his head. “The Mark doesn’t heal,” was all he said. It knows nothing but destruction.
“I’ll take your word for it,” Anders muttered, and Lavellan yelped when his palm began to glow, smoothing carefully down his right arm and covering his scratched, still-numb hands in healing heat. Anders huffed in short-tempered exasperation – but Lavellan couldn’t blame him, the poor man looked more than a little sleep-deprived. “Relax, Inquisitor. You’re severely malnourished and dehydrated, and suffered mild hypothermia and frostbite. And your hands were rubbed raw by those dragon scales. You’re very lucky to still have all of your fingers.”
Lavellan sucked in a sharp breath. “That explains why I feel half-dead, then.”
“Mm. Also, it may be because you are somewhat half-dead, Inquisitor.” Anders eyed the black substance with interest. “You were presumed dead for two weeks – since it took roughly a week for Nira to carry you back to Skyhold, that means it took a week to get you to that…strange forest, where she somehow brought you back. Regrettably, that means you probably spent an entire week as a corpse before being revived.”
Lavellan gripped the sides of the tub with ivory knuckles. Dorian made a strangled sound. Varric, for once, seemed to be at a loss for words. Vivienne clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “That certainly explains the smell, darling.”
“So…so that black sludge is…”
Anders sighed. “Dead tissue, yes. Probably. I admit this is all very new to me as well. But the good news is that, whatever your dragon did…you’re very much alive now. It’s not that your body is perfectly preserved – it’s that it’s practically brand new – fresh skin, fresh hair, fresh organs –”
Lavellan barely stopped himself from gagging.
Anders cleared his throat sheepishly. “Apologies. My point is, Inquisitor, that you truly rose from the ashes – it’s just that some of those ashes may still be inside of you.”
Lavellan was still trying to get over the realization that he had been deceased for a week. He glanced at Dorian, bracing himself for revulsion, disgust – but the mage just shook his head firmly and stroked Lavellan’s wet hair, gaze downcast.
“Where’s Nira?” Lavellan asked as Anders continued to work his magic with intense concentration. “Is she…”
“She’s recovering,” Dorian replied quickly. “Both of you had…a lot of exposure to the elements. But she’s in good hands; Frederic and Adan have been babying her and turned her old tent into a rather extensive infirmary. She’s supposed to be returned to her tower tomorrow morning to recuperate on her own.”
“That’s…that’s good,” Lavellan whispered. Somehow, they’d both made it back. But he didn’t feel much like thanking the Creators for it. Maybe just one of them. His sister’s voice echoed in his mind.
“Really, it’s a miracle you managed to survive in such harsh conditions,” Dorian continued, admiration in his tone. “Many other men would not have been so lucky, amatus.”
Lavellan didn’t even think before he said it. “Well, it’s not as if I haven’t nearly starved or frozen to death plenty of times before.”
Dorian’s expression faltered, eyes widening.
Lavellan quickly changed the subject. “Anders, I don’t know what you’re doing but I already feel less like I just threw up rotted organs.”
Anders rolled his eyes. “Oh, well, that’s always a good sign.” He had a hand over Lavellan’s heart, still glowing, and it was pleasantly warm. Lavellan actually felt like he could fall asleep right there, and was understandably disappointed when the mage pulled back, wiping his wet hand off on his robe with a shrug. “To be quite honest, I’m not sure there’s much more I can do for you, Inquisitor. You’re not possessed, though, and I managed to slow your ridiculously high metabolism temporarily, which should make it easier to gain weight and benefit your health.”
“Thank you,” Lavellan told him genuinely, nodding to Varric. “And thank you for bringing him. Truly, I…I appreciate it.”
Anders got to his feet and inclined his head. “Of course, Inquisitor.” He paused, chuckling a little. “It’s refreshing to meet a blonde elf who doesn’t hate me. Or mages. Or Tevinter.” He gave Dorian a meaningful look and if it wasn’t so ludicrous, Lavellan would’ve sworn Dorian blushed. “I wish you a speedy recovery, Inquisitor – should you need me, I’ll probably be sorting out the neverending mess that is Redcliffe. Try not to die again – I’ve no idea how reliable your dragon’s magic is.”
And on that optimistic note, the mage who singlehandedly started a Thedas-wide rebellion turned on his heel and marched out of the room. Varric shrugged. “Blondie’s a busy guy,” he said before hurrying after Anders.
“I’m afraid I, too, am quite busy,” Vivienne said, eyeing the departing Anders coolly. “But it is of course a delight to know you’re not an abomination, my dear. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”
“Yes, Lady Vivienne,” Lavellan mumbled. She smiled sweetly and left in a flurry of skirts.
Only Dorian and Solas remained. Lavellan, though he hated to do so, gently pushed Dorian’s hand from his shoulder. “If…if it’s alright with you, I’d like to speak with Solas for a moment. Alone.”
Dorian blinked, visibly hurt and bewildered, but nodded, looking between the two elves and biting his lip. “Of…of course, amatus.” He rose, hesitant.
“I’ll speak with you later, I promise,” Lavellan assured him. Dorian, still biting his lip, nodded and left hastily.
Solas had a strange expression on his face – as if he were trying very hard to remain impassive, but not quite succeeding. “You wished to speak with me, Inquisitor?”
“Yes,” Lavellan said quietly, and then because he quite frankly didn’t feel like this was a bathtub-appropriate situation, he heaved himself up and out of the water, immediately regretting it when he realized how terribly cold the air was and how weak his body still was. Dripping everywhere, he stood shivering, knees knocking, snatching up a towel desperately.
Solas crossed the room, and came back with a robe which he held out silently. Lavellan blinked, taking it and wrapping it around his significantly skinnier frame. “Thank you,” he told Solas.
Still, the older elf (much, much older elf) said nothing. He seemed torn between fleeing or, possibly, turning that remarkable magic of his against Lavellan. Lavellan really hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He took a deep breath; it rattled in his chest loudly. Genuine concern showed in Solas’s expression, if only for a moment, and that gave Lavellan the courage to continue.
“The forest Nira took me to,” he started, pulling the robe tighter around himself. “It was Arlathan.”
Solas inhaled sharply. “That’s…interesting, Inquisitor. But I do not understand why –”
Lavellan did not wait to hear his excuses. “I didn’t immediately wake up and see Nira reviving me. I was in the Fade, before that. And I was not alone. You remember, I’m certain, of the shadow I told you about, the one in my dreams?” Solas nodded mutely, guardedly. “Yes, well. The shadow was none other than Falon’Din.”
That got a reaction. Solas reeled backward as if slapped, his lips parting and eyes widening in alarm. “You are certain?” he whispered urgently.
“Oh, very,” Lavellan said, “considering when Nira managed to rip his shadow to shreds, I found myself at the base of his final altar. Blood magic seems to be a reoccurring theme with him.” Lavellan sighed. “He hasn’t escaped the Black City, though – none of them have. But…but he was very close to doing so.”
Solas swallowed. “Inquisitor…what did he want with you?”
“He wanted to possess me,” Lavellan said dully. “Promised he’d restore both of us to my body…with the one condition that I’d let him use the Mark to tear down the Veil –”
“ – and set all the Creators free.” Solas shook his head, eyes narrowing. “Such an action would have destroyed the entire world, Inquisitor.”
“Oh, I know,” Lavellan muttered. “Of course, he didn’t tell me that until after I refused…which made him more than a little upset. But he…he told me some other interesting things, too.” Lavellan looked at Solas steadily. “Like your true identity, Dread Wolf.”
Solas didn’t flinch. “It has been a long, long time since anyone has called me by that name, Inquisitor.”
“And yet, here I am,” Lavellan said. “Calling you by your real name.”
He exhaled heavily. “Solas is my real name. Fen’Harel…came later.”
“And your betrayal? That came later too, I suppose?”
Solas’s eyes flashed. “You have met one of the Creators, Inquisitor,” he retorted. “Did Falon’Din seem like the benevolent god he was made out to be? Did he seem like anything more than an arrogant, selfish being who craves power in any form he can get it?”
“He seemed broken,” Lavellan shot back. “Deranged. Desperate. And he’s not the only one you betrayed! Maybe he’s twisted, but they can’t all be like that!”
“Can’t they?” But Solas frowned, shoulders slumping a bit. “While you are correct that the Creators are not wholly evil, they are all guilty of one mutual, terrible crime. They killed Mythal, not I, Inquisitor.”
Lavellan would have protested, but then he remembered what Abelas had said at the Temple. Elvhen legend is wrong. The Dread Wolf had nothing to do with her murder. His eyes widened. “What?! Why would they even…?”
Solas sighed. “Why did Maferath betray Andraste? Jealousy? Greed? The desire for chaos and greatness, in no particular order? I do not know, Inquisitor, and at the time I did not care why. It was an unforgivable crime, and the gods grew more corrupt every day. I did what I believed had to be done.”
“If they escape,” Lavellan murmured, “they’ll kill you.”
Solas smiled grimly. “I appreciate the warning, Inquisitor, but gods are not so easily killed. As you have seen.”
“Are you really a god, though?” Lavellan asked doubtfully. “How does that…work, exactly?”
Solas’s mouth twitched with amusement. “You…are taking this quite well, Inquisitor. You’ve just learned your People’s gods exist and –”
“And they’re complete assholes,” Lavellan finished wearily. “No offense.”
“…Some taken.” Solas cleared his throat. “I sincerely hope you did not call Falon’Din that, true as it may be.”
“I think he read between the lines, considering that he threatened to forcibly possess my corpse and cast my spirit into the Void,” Lavellan muttered.
Solas grimaced. “That does sound like him, unfortunately. For what it’s worth…I am very, very glad he didn’t succeed, Inquisitor.”
Lavellan rubbed his eyes. “Trust me, so am I,” he agreed. “Anyway…he said the Mark – and I’m guessing the orb that created it – belong to you. Is that part of what gave you your power?”
Solas inclined his head. “Indeed. The orb…it was my foci, an ancient artifact designed to hold more magic than any living body could safely carry. But…Inquisitor, you must understand I was asleep for many, many years, lost in Uthenera. I only awoke when my orb was stolen.”
“By Corypheus,” Lavellan breathed. “Shit.”
“Quite. I tried to reclaim it, but by then, of course…it was far too late. You, however, stopped the destruction Corypheus threatened to bring down upon the world, Inquisitor – in more ways than you know. Your Mark…I will not lie, Inquisitor, it is not magic meant for mortals, even those of elvhen blood. I cannot say what it will do to you. But with it, you can defeat Corypheus. And when you do...I’m afraid we must part ways, Inquisitor.”
Lavellan tilted his head. “Why? Where will you go? What will you do?”
“Help the People,” Solas murmured, looking away. “As I should have done long, long ago. And there is much to be done…as I’m certain you know all too well.”
“I hope your idea of ‘help’ isn’t the same as Falon’Din’s,” Lavellan said, almost warningly.
Solas looked up, pensive. “I hope so too, Inquisitor.”
Lavellan regarded him quietly. It was strange, perhaps, to feel so at ease around a being he’d been warned of since he could walk, but so many strange things had happened already. What was one more?
“Oh…there’s another thing. Nira…she’s the offspring of Falon’Din’s Guardian.”
“Yes,” Solas replied calmly. “I thought as much.”
“You…what?! You knew, all along?”
“All along? No, Inquisitor. But she has features characteristic of the ancient Guardians, and when you told me about the ‘shadow’…I began to consider it as a very real possibility. It seems I was correct,” Solas said with a touch of smugness.
“So…did that allow her to…to bring me back, then?”
Solas made a thoughtful sound. “I believe so. You see, Inquisitor…the gods all had their Guardians, and each one had unique gifts. Falon’Din’s Guardian could breathe fire that killed – but also fire that healed, even beyond death. Mythal’s Guardian could determine who was truly just and pure at heart, and who was corrupt and falsehearted. That is why you had to prove yourself to her.”
“And if I had been falsehearted?”
“She would have crushed you like a toothpick,” Solas said smoothly. “The Guardians are not like the so-called high dragons you have fought, Inquisitor. They have intelligence, but more than that they have morality, a defined sense of right and wrong that is simply not seen in others of their kind. That is why you were able to form such a bond with Nira.” Solas smiled slightly. “One could almost say she sees you as her god. She is your Guardian, Inquisitor, ‘til death do you part. And perhaps even after that, apparently.”
“That…explains so many things,” Lavellan said faintly. “Fenedhis…I’m so glad I fell in that hole.”
“You fell? Wasn’t that Dorian’s fault to begin with?” Solas said, smirking. “Fate works in mysterious ways, Inquisitor.”
Lavellan looked down at the halla pendant, curling his fingers around it. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, it does.”
Solas watched him carefully. “Falon’Din wasn’t the only Creator you met, was he?”
Lavellan shook his head. “Guess there’s some benefits to having slave markings after all.”
Solas laughed, a rare sound. “Keep that optimism, Inquisitor.” His brow lowered. “You will need it in the years ahead.” He reached out, touching Lavellan’s shoulder lightly. “And I pray you have many, many more left.”
“Prayers straight from a god?” Lavellan joked. “I’m honored.”
But Solas stepped back, troubled. “What will you tell the others?”
Lavellan shook his head. “I think they have enough to worry about already, don’t you?”
Solas’s eyes narrowed. “Even Dorian?”
Lavellan let out a shaky breath. “Especially Dorian.”
“On that, we are agreed.” Solas turned to go. “You have found people who truly care for you, Inquisitor. Hold onto them for as long as you can.”
Lavellan watched him leave with an odd uneasiness settling in his chest.
*
Despite his enthusiastic plans to visit Nira and his old friends, Lavellan found exhaustion taking its toll on him again and ended up all but collapsing into bed, falling into the deepest, most dreamless sleep he’d had in a long, long time. There were no shadows, no illusions, no silvery spirits – just sleep. And as he lay in the muzzy moments between slumber and consciousness, familiar faces hovered around him – Cassandra, reverently placing his old bow upon his desk, swiping a hand quickly across her eyes; Sera, bringing a fresh batch of Jenny Tarts and some very strong swear words followed by a trembling kiss on his cheek; Bull, with an uncharacteristic quietness and a soft shoulder squeeze; Cole, murmuring happy phrases about wings and hearts into his ears…
But he awoke to Dorian, his weight dipping the mattress slightly as he sat on the edge of the vast bed, absently stroking Lavellan’s hair and turning the bluish crystal in his hands over and over and over.
Blearily, Lavellan nuzzled up into his palm, practically purring when Dorian’s thumb brushed his ear. “Hey, you,” he managed, voice low and sleep-slurred.
Dorian jumped, nearly dropping the crystal. “You’re awake,” he murmured. “Certainly took your time.”
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Lavellan said with a little laugh, but Dorian’s expression stopped him from continuing.
The mage swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I saw you die,” he whispered.
Lavellan didn’t know what to say to that. “…Sorry?”
“Remember what I said about apologizing?” Dorian huffed. “Although, in this case, yes, maybe an apology is in order. You…you didn’t even give me a choice in the matter, Lavellan! You forced the antidote down my throat and made me watch you waste away in my arms, because…because, what, I have more political influence?!”
“You have the potential to save a country –”
“And you have the potential to save the world!” Dorian threw up his hands. “Do you know what would’ve happened if Nira hadn’t turned out to be a whole new breed of necromancer? Thedas would have crumbled to the fucking ground without you! And all because you decided some bloody Tevinter mage’s life was more important than your own! It’s not, Lavellan! It’s not!”
Lavellan’s lip trembled. “It was to me,” he whispered. “It still is.” He started to sit up, defiant. “I don’t regret it. I’d do it again, if it meant you’d live.”
Dorian drew in a shuddering breath. “Lavellan, no. You can’t just…” He stood up abruptly, turning away. “I came to tell you I’m leaving for Tevinter after this is over, like you wanted. For good, like I planned to before everything went to complete and utter shit.” He held up the crystal. “If…if you really want, we could use these to communicate…but beyond that, I can promise nothing.”
Lavellan was certain his heart stopped a second time. “W-what?”
“I told you I don’t know what I’m doing with you,” Dorian said dully. “But what I do know is that…professing your love in a cave and then dying for me and then being taken from me…that’s not healthy, Lavellan, not for me and definitely not for you!” He set the crystal aside, next to Lavellan’s on the wardrobe, and put his head in his hands. “It should have been me.”
“But it wasn’t,” Lavellan said fiercely. “It wasn’t, and if it had been you’d be dead for good.”
“I thought you were dead for good!” Dorian shot back. “One second I was holding you, and the next I was holding your corpse! I thought, this is it; this is where I finally lose him forever. And I did, amatus. You were gone.”
“I don’t understand,” Lavellan whispered. “Would…would you rather I stayed dead?”
“No!” Dorian exclaimed, horrified. “Maker, no. But you and I…what happened in the Tomb…I understand it was very heat of the moment, and –”
“You think I didn’t mean it?!” Lavellan snapped. “I love you, you idiot! There, is that what you wanted? Some positive affirmation from the man who died for you?” Then he faltered. “Did…did you mean it?”
Dorian was quiet.
Lavellan flinched. “Oh,” he said, voice cracking. “I…I thought…”
But then Dorian was kneeling, tipping his chin up with a finger, his eyes shiny. “It’s not that I don’t love you,” he murmured. “It was never, ever that.”
“Then why?” Lavellan asked, pleading, searching his face for an answer. “Why are you doing this?”
“When we arrived at Skyhold, after you…after the Wastes, your advisors asked me to give your eulogy.” Dorian closed his eyes. “I did. And I told everyone about…about us. Like you wanted. But…but then I realized it didn’t matter anyway, because I ruined it, Lavellan; I let you think I was unfaithful instead of telling you how I felt and giving you what you wanted, what you deserved. I said you deserved so much better than me and I meant it, Lavellan.”
“You’re all I want,” Lavellan said, leaning closer. “Dorian, you’re the only one I want.”
Dorian scoffed. “Oh? Are you certain you couldn’t just replace me with a common whore at a feast?” He slumped, ashamed. “Forgive me, I –”
“I didn’t do anything with her,” Lavellan mumbled. “I…I was trying to make you jealous, but…but when we got to my quarters I froze up, and I realized I…I could only lay with you.” He sighed. “So instead, I asked her why people were unfaithful to their partners.”
Dorian’s face crumpled. “Amatus…”
“She said it was either because they thought their partner wasn’t good enough…or they thought they weren’t good enough.” Lavellan reached up, cupping Dorian’s jaw softly. “You’re good enough, Dorian.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Dorian said shakily. “Not again.”
“Then stay,” Lavellan pressed. “We can make this work, I know we can, please let’s just try. That’s…that’s all I’m asking of you.”
Dorian still hesitated. “Earlier, when you said you’d nearly starved and frozen to death before…well, I’ve been quite an ass, I think. I never even considered that…that living in the forest would be difficult, although of course I’m certain it was, but…” He bit his lip. “I must seem a spoiled brat to you, after everything you’ve been through. We’re just so different. There’s…there’s no way I could truly understand what you experienced.”
“No,” Lavellan agreed, “there’s not.” He tilted his head. “But we aren’t as different as you think. It isn’t as if your life was without hardship, Dorian.”
Dorian rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes, the hardship of running out of suitable one-night stands, perhaps –”
“The hardship of your own family trying to turn you into something – someone – you’re not.” Dorian winced and Lavellan looked at him steadily. “It’s a different kind of struggle, perhaps, but it still matters. I had my family. You didn’t.”
“Well, when you put it like that…” Dorian muttered, a bit choked.
“But you have one now,” Lavellan assured. “Dorian, you have a family here; a home here, if you want it. Always.”
Dorian leaned in, lashes lowering. “I’ll…I’ll have to return eventually,” he whispered. “You were right, you know, about changing Tevinter.”
“Eventually,” Lavellan said, bringing him closer. “Not yet.” He kissed him slowly, carefully, and it almost felt like a first kiss all over again.
“Maybe…maybe I could take you with me,” Dorian added when he pulled away, breaths tickling Lavellan’s face. “If only to vex my father, anyway.” He chuckled, sounding a little wistful. “It’s a beautiful city, Qarinus…I think you’d enjoy it.”
Lavellan blinked, eyes wide as he remembered with a jolt. “I saw it!” he blurted.
Dorian blinked back. “I…what?”
“When…when Nira was flying back to Skyhold, we, we passed over Qarinus. I think it was, anyway? There was a great white dome with a bronze dragon atop it –”
Dorian grasped his hand tightly. “Yes, yes that’s it!” Then he paused. “You were that far north? There aren’t many forests up there…in fact, there’s really only one.”
Lavellan swallowed. “Dorian…if I tell you something…will you promise to keep it a secret?”
Bewildered, Dorian nodded. “Of course…what is it?”
“I…before Nira revived me, I was in the Fade. There was…Dorian, the shadow was there.”
Dorian’s mouth tightened. “Lavellan, about that shadow…”
“Yes?” Lavellan asked quickly, pulse pounding. There was no way he could possibly know the truth. Right?
“I asked Samson about Helena, and he said she was being visited by the same shadow.” Dorian glowered. “That damned thing told her to kill you, Lavellan.”
Lavellan’s blood ran cold. Another deception to add to Falon’Din’s long, long list, then. “It tried to possess me,” he said, curling up slightly. “It…it tried to make a deal with me, and when I refused…” He shuddered, and Dorian made a soft sound and settled fully beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Lavellan leaned gratefully into his warmth.
“Was it a demon?” Dorian questioned.
Lavellan closed his eyes. Even Dorian…especially Dorian. “I don’t know what it was,” he lied. “But it wanted the Mark. It was going to take my body by force, Dorian. It…it kept saying it was going to hurt you, to pretend it was me and then kill you when it was done.”
“Oh, amatus,” Dorian whispered, hugging him tighter. “What…what was it going to do with you?”
Lavellan’s hand fisted into the sheets. “Cast my soul into the Void for eternity.”
Dorian inhaled sharply, then he was holding Lavellan to his chest, their heartbeats pressed against each other, one hand curling over the back of Lavellan’s neck protectively. “Don’t you dare die again,” he warned. “Venhedis…could that shadow really have done it?”
“Yes,” Lavellan replied. “It nearly did.” He remembered the Fade breaking, shattering around him with startling clarity. “Nira saved me then, too – she ripped the shadow to shreds.”
“Kaffas,” Dorian said, still embracing him. “I suppose I should thank you for stopping me from electrocuting her when we first found her…” He pulled back a little, though their chests still touched – the intimacy was so unlike what Lavellan was used to, and he certainly wasn’t complaining about the way the mage held him – careful but desperate at the same time, as if he thought Lavellan might break at any second but was on the verge of breaking himself.
Dorian’s eyes were troubled, and his arms were tense. Lavellan stroked his bare shoulder worriedly. “Dorian? What’s wrong?”
“When Nira came for your body…she was out of control, Lavellan. She broke through the entire Tomb, and when I tried to calm her down…she would have killed me. Her loyalty to you…it goes beyond simple companionship, amatus. She loves you, and as dangerous as her way of showing it might be, it also brought you back to life.” Dorian frowned. “I don’t think she’s a normal dragon, Lavellan – of course she has miraculous healing powers, but it’s more than that. She feels.”
Lavellan laughed nervously. “How do you know other dragons don’t feel too? I doubt they’re coldhearted and savage to the bone –”
“No,” Dorian continued, “not like that. The Dalish…you consider halla to be superior to normal deer, right?” Lavellan nodded slowly. “Alright, why?”
“Because…they’re not just deer, they’re…” Guardians. He cleared his throat. Dorian was too smart for his own good. “They’re loyal and intelligent creatures that protect us, a bit like mabari in a way.” He wrinkled his nose, rethinking that comparison. “Nevermind, not quite like mabari at all. Anyway…what were you saying?”
Dorian shrugged, looking more unsure. “It’s just a theory, but I think your Nira may be something very special, amatus. A new type of dragon…one slightly less bloodthirsty and slay-able. They’re magnificent creatures…imagine if others could raise them as you did with her? They’re a dying race, and it seems a shame not to at least try to preserve the good parts of them. It’s worth investigating, anyway. Don’t you think?”
Lavellan smiled despite himself, despite all the secrets already swirling between them. “Of course,” he replied, and he was going to say something else but was cut off by a shallow cough. Dorian grabbed him like he was about to spontaneously combust. Lavellan gave him a halfhearted glare. “I don’t think my cold is life-threatening,” he said drily. He coughed again, a little louder, and reluctantly let Dorian guide him back down against the pillows. “Really, I’m fine –”
“Don’t,” Dorian said quietly. “Just…just rest, please. You still feel like skin and bones.”
Lavellan grimaced. “Oh, well, thanks for that.” But…the fatigue was creeping up on him again, so he didn’t feel much like arguing. “Will…will you stay? You don’t have to –”
Dorian laid down beside him, pulling the soft blankets over both of them and kissing Lavellan’s brow. “I’ll stay,” he promised, and Lavellan knew he wasn’t just talking about the bed. “I’ll stay, amatus.”
“I love you,” Lavellan whispered.
“I know,” Dorian replied, eyes bright.
Lavellan kicked his shin until he said it back, the two of them giggling uncontrollably until Lavellan literally laughed himself to exhaustion. He fell asleep with a smile on his face and a lover beside him, their hearts beating as one.
*
At some point, Lavellan awoke soaked in sweat and disoriented, a heavy weight against his back. He panicked and crawled to the other side of the bed as he felt bile rising in his throat. Dorian made a confused sound and reached sleepily for him. Lavellan flinched away and made it to the edge of the bed before heaving, blackness splattering on the floorboards and his hands as he abortively tried to cover his mouth. He exhaled, squeezing his eyes shut and trembling as he waited for the pain to die down.
Dorian touched his back, and Lavellan flinched away, staring down at the black liquid on his palms numbly, illuminated in the darkness by the Mark. It smelled metallic and sour, and though Anders had said he was most definitely not rotting anymore…he had left his body, left it to decay just like all the other corpses they’d found in the Plains, the Mire, the Graves…what would have happened if Nira had waited even longer to revive him? If she had waited until nature set upon him, until there was nothing left but bones –
“Lavellan. Please, answer me,” Dorian whispered. He’d been saying something…Lavellan could barely hear it over the roaring in his ears.
Lavellan swallowed harshly. “What?”
“Are…are you alright?”
Lavellan’s laugh was forced. “Me? Oh…I’m fine, just fine, just fully realizing I was a corpse for a week…how can you even stand to touch me?” He hunched his shoulders, trying to brush Dorian off, but his palm stayed there on the nape of his neck, warm and steady.
“I kept holding you, you know,” Dorian said quietly. “Even after you died, I couldn’t let go of you. I know…I know it wasn’t you anymore. But I didn’t have anything else.”
“It wasn’t me anymore…” Lavellan breathed, choked. “If it wasn’t me, Dorian, then where did I go? Where was I during that entire week?” He was becoming panicked. “There was nothing, Dorian, there was no Maker, no afterlife – when I died –”
Dorian leaned against his back, lips soft on his shoulder. “Shh,” he whispered. “You said you went to the Fade, yes? That you were a spirit –”
“I wasn’t,” Lavellan snapped. “I wasn’t a spirit; I was just me, like how you are when you dream…it was like a dream. But death? Death was…nothing. I was just…gone. There’s nothing, Dorian,” he said, raising his head and looking back at the mage, heart pounding. “There’s nothing on the other side.”
“You don’t know that,” Dorian murmured.
“I died!” Lavellan cried, trembling. “If there’s something beyond death, then where the fuck was it, huh? Because I don’t remember anything. Nothing…”
“Maybe that’s just it,” Dorian replied thoughtfully. “Maybe you can’t remember because you’re not supposed to remember.”
Lavellan bit his lip, managing to calm down enough to listen. “I…what?”
“If there really is an afterlife…and believe what you want, but I’d like to think there is – it makes everything a bit less doom and gloom – it would probably be a lovely place. So lovely, in fact, that it was everything you wanted it to be, everything good you had in life – and how could you come back from that, Lavellan? How could you ever be happy here – in this absolute mess of a world – again? You’d be miserable.” Dorian squeezed his arm. “There are some things you might be better off not remembering.”
Hopeful, Lavellan gazed at him. “You…you truly believe that?”
“I believe that there’s an afterlife, yes,” Dorian replied. “And I believe you would go to the best possible one, walking at the Maker’s side or frolicking with your entire pantheon for eternity or whatever it is. But you’re not going back there anytime soon, understood?”
Lavellan nodded, chest tight, leaning back against him. “At the very least…let’s avoid dying in caves. That was terrible. I couldn’t even see the sky…although I could almost imagine I saw it in your eyes.”
Dorian flushed. “The things you say, amatus.”
“All the utterly wicked things I’ve said to you and that makes you blush?” Lavellan chortled, shaking his head and wincing a little at the accompanying throb in his skull. He looked down at the floor and his hands and wrinkled his nose. “I ought to clean this up before the entire room starts smelling like –”
Dorian took his hand, and Lavellan froze. Magic glowed between their palms and when Dorian pulled away his hand was clean. A flick of his wrist, and the floor was more sparkling than it had been before. Lavellan frowned. “You didn’t have to –”
“Hush. I’m allowed to fret over you for at least two weeks. That means you rest, and I take care of you.” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “I’m your faithful lackey, remember?”
“No,” Lavellan countered, smiling. “You’re my amatus.”
Dorian grinned. “What’s the difference, really?” He managed to move away before Lavellan could swat at him, getting up from the bed and going over to the clock on Lavellan’s desk with a small ball of floating light in his hands, casting strange shadows all around the dark room. He peered at it. “Four in the morning,” he groused. “I suppose it could be worse. I suspect the kitchens are already awake – why don’t I go scrounge for some early breakfast? Are you hungry?”
Lavellan just barely managed to stifle his stomach’s growl. “You don’t have to –”
“Nevermind, don’t answer that, you’re literally starving. You like that buttery toast with berries and powdered sugar, right? Myself, I’m thinking crepes. Maybe they’ll taste less bland with a spoonful of cinnamon…”
Lavellan stared at him. “You’re not seriously fetching me breakfast?”
“Oh, quite serious,” Dorian said as he pulled on his robes. “Breakfast in bed. Stay right there, I’ll be back shortly!”
And then Dorian left. To go get breakfast. For him. At four in the morning.
Lavellan had a sneaking suspicion he’d died (again) and gone to that afterlife Dorian was so adamant about.
*
When Dorian returned a while later, Lavellan had managed to get dressed (he’d only almost collapsed once, which he counted as progress) and make himself look…well, perhaps presentable was not quite the right word. But he did look less like he’d just returned from the grave. It was progress.
Dorian was carrying an impressive number of trays, which he set down on the floor after Lavellan’s insistence that he didn’t actually want to eat breakfast in bed – far too unsanitary. Dorian scoffed a little at that, innuendo on the tip of his tongue, but he presumably forgot all about it when Lavellan proceeded to wolf down his entire meal in the span of a few minutes. He was hungrier than he’d realized, apparently, and this was a much better substitute to the soup they’d apparently been feeding him.
“Your table manners,” Dorian said, “are atrocious.”
Lavellan wiped his mouth daintily, shrugging. “Good thing we’re not at a table, then.”
Dorian rolled his eyes, took a small bite of his crepes, then paused and tilted his head. “Oh,” he said, surprised. “This fruit…it’s from Tevinter!” He looked adorably excited about the strange, ruby-colored berries on his plate. “It’s called pomegranate, have you ever tried it before?”
Lavellan shook his head, curious. “Is it good?”
Dorian picked up one of the odd little berries. “Very. The family estate in Qarinus had an entire orchard of pomegranate trees. They look like berries, no? But they’re actually seeds from a large fruit that looks…a bit like an apple, perhaps. The fruit itself is completely unedible – but the seeds are delicious. Here, try it.”
Then before Lavellan could even blink Dorian’s fingers were in his mouth, and it was a bit difficult to concentrate on the taste of the fruit. But it was good, very good – sweet and tangy and intense, juice staining Dorian’s fingers as he pulled back, Lavellan’s teeth scraping his skin.
His eyes were wide and dark. Lavellan was fairly certain he wasn’t just excited about fruit, now. “I like it,” Lavellan told him, taking his wrist and bringing Dorian’s fingers back to his lips. He nodded to the purplish stains. “You’ve got a little…”
Dorian’s fingers twitched, but he didn’t move away. “Ah…yes, well, it tends to be hard to wash off, unfortunately –”
Lavellan kissed his knuckles, and then sucked the two stained fingers into his mouth, looking at Dorian from half-lidded eyes. He swirled his tongue around them, tasting sweetness again. Dorian cursed, letting his hand drop limply from Lavellan’s mouth when the other finally released him.
“Rest,” Dorian mumbled insistently as Lavellan pushed aside the dirty plates to move closer to him. “You need to rest…oh, kaffas –”
Lavellan hummed, inches from his face. “I thought you said you were supposed to take care of me?”
Dorian’s lips parted, a soft moan slipping out. “You’re insufferable,” he breathed, “and I hate you.”
Lavellan smirked, running a fingertip over his chest. “You love me.”
“Yes,” Dorian whispered. “I really, really do.”
*
By the time they managed to get out of bed, the sun was beginning to rise, painting the room a rich gold among the bluish remnants of night. Lavellan all but tumbled onto the floor as he got up, stretching luxuriously before padding over to the window.
Dorian laughed, still sprawled on the sheets lazily. “Are you trying to flash all of Skyhold? Because I think it’s working.”
Lavellan stuck his tongue out at him, reluctantly admitting that some clothes were probably in order. He paused with a shirt halfway on as a shape moved outside, out of the corner of his eye. He looked towards it quickly, on edge – only to see Nira land atop her tower, climbing in through the top after her morning hunt. He turned to Dorian eagerly. “They returned her to her tower! Let’s say hello.”
Dorian yawned, sitting up. “Right now? It’s still…” he squinted. “Only six in the morning!”
“Come on,” Lavellan wheedled. “We can watch the sun rise if we hurry.”
Dorian threw a hand over his face. “Ugh…fine. Just give me a moment. I need some…recovery time.”
Lavellan preened. “Recovery time? What’s that?”
Dorian groaned.
*
Despite Dorian’s complaining and ridiculously long morning routine, they did make it out onto the ramparts in time to see the sun peeking over the horizon, illuminating the wintry world around them. Snow had gathered on the stones and crunched below their boots, but Lavellan felt very warm with Dorian’s arm around him, steadying him as they walked. They didn’t say much, and as they approached the tower Lavellan felt Dorian tense a little.
He looked up at the mage. “Don’t worry,” he said. “She won’t hurt you.”
“You don’t know that,” Dorian retorted, brow furrowing. “She is a high dragon –”
“– and I would be a fool to forget it. I know, Dorian. But she’s not just any dragon. She’s my dragon.” He hesitated. “Our dragon. It's your fault we found her, after all.”
Dorian shook his head. “It was you who saved her, not me –”
“Please,” Lavellan pressed. “Just trust me. Do you trust me?”
“Of course,” Dorian said, and he relented, walking with Lavellan to the tower door. He was about to open it – but he needn’t have bothered. The loud scratch of claws on stone filled the air and Nira’s head poked out from the ruined top, smoke curling from her mouth when she saw them. Oddly catlike, she leapt down from the tower, landing heavily in front of them, eyes narrowing slightly when she saw Dorian.
But any displeasure she felt was quickly overshadowed when Lavellan limped towards her, struggling to stay upright when she started nuzzling him enthusiastically. “Hey, hey, calm down, it’s me, I’m alright…thanks to you.” He touched her muzzle softly. “My Guardian,” he whispered, too low for Dorian to hear. Nira’s ears pricked, though, and she huffed out a warm, affectionate breath against his face.
Then Dorian stepped forward and she drew back a little, ears going back. Dorian sighed. “I told you this wasn’t going to work –”
“It will,” Lavellan said, determined, turning back to Nira. “Dorian said you almost killed him,” Lavellan said quietly to her, unsure if she could truly understand…but certain that the meaning wasn’t wholly lost on her.
“You can’t kill him,” Lavellan ordered. “You can’t hurt him.” Nira whined, eyes flicking to Dorian with what could have been shame. Lavellan reached out to stroke her scales, tone softening. “I know you saved me,” he murmured. “I know you protect me, no matter what the cost. And I know you thought you were protecting me when Dorian tried to keep my body from you in the Tomb. But he…he’s my guardian, Nira, as much as you are mine. He’s my vhenan.”
Nira blinked slowly. Then she took a step forward, closer to Dorian, head tilted and jaws parting.
“Lavellan?” Dorian hissed, standing completely still. Nira’s stance was not entirely comforting – somewhere between predatory and cautious.
“Nira?” Lavellan murmured, worried, but she ignored him, head lowering toward’s Dorian, teeth showing in terrifying glints of white. Her wings spread slightly, her nostrils flared, a soft orange glow in her throat –
“Nira!”
And then the glow faded and she licked Dorian’s face, almost knocking him over. Dorian spluttered. Nira sat back on her haunches, apparently satisfied. “And I thought mabari were bad,” Dorian said weakly, wiping dragon spit off his cheek. “But…you have my utmost gratitude for not roasting me, I suppose.”
Nira made a rumbling noise that sounded quite like chuckling. Lavellan looked up at her, the early sunshine gleaming on her scales, setting her wings afire as she spread them, glinting on her horns as if they were tipped with gold. She was beautiful, she was powerful, she was magnificent – more than that, she was his.
Then he looked at Dorian, the mage’s handsome profile a rich bronze in dawn’s light, his eyes glittering like fragments of the finest glass, his skin warmer than any sunshine as he took Lavellan’s hand in his own. He was beautiful, he was powerful, he was magnificent – more than that, he was his.
Lavellan looked out at the bright horizon. There was a storm coming – he could feel it.
But he had his anchor. And he wasn’t letting go.