#mahanon

Mahanon scowled and had a bitter retort on the tip of his tongue when he turned to face his lover. He stopped when he saw his face. There was no judgement in his tone, nor any in his eyes. If anything, Dorian was softly smiling. It was a kindness, not a happy one. This mess wasn’t his fault and he knew exactly what Mahanon was going to say before the words left his lips. So he didn’t. Instead he sighed, faintly ashamed for nearly causing a fight.

“Okay.”

He handed the bottle over and slid into the large chair. While Dorian opened the bottle and found their glasses, he rubbed at his palm. Pushing his thumb against the bright split in his skin did absolutely nothing for the pain but it made him feel like he was trying. He could barely feel the pressure at all. As if the glow climbing up his wrist didn’t make it bad enough.

“Here.”

He took the offered glass, laying his fingers over Dorian’s as they made the exchange. It was worth the twitch of a real smile at the corner of his lips. The wine was heady and flavorful across his tongue. He rolled it around in his mouth for a moment, savoring the layers of smoke and spice within the dry red before swallowing.

“Where do you want to start, amatus? Because if you think I’m going to let you just wallow in this, whatever this is, you’re wrong.” His voice cracked at the edges. “Talk to me.”

There was no way he would keep this to himself. Not when Dorian was reaching out for him like that. He set the glass down and took one of Dorian’s hands into both of his, tracing a thumb over each of his knuckles slowly. Unsure of where to begin, he decided to go with everything.

“I met Mythal. Turns out Morrigan is her daughter and she’s kind of a bitch. She’s human, thinks I'm doing my People proud, controls the geas from the Well, and if that wasn't enough, she still holds a compulsion over Ara’lan. She,” he paused to cringe, still able to smell the burning flesh and see the pain in his ha'hren's eyes. “Took her. Since Abelas is sworn to serve Mythal and is Ara’lan’s ex, Felassan was trying to kill him. All their magic was tearing apart the Veil and since no one wants demons, I was trying to keep that from happening. But they were doing something that made my magic misbehave, draining it from everything around them probably, so I had to use the Mark. And it hates that so it’s acting up again. I’ll need to have Solas take a look at it but I don’t want to ask him for anything right now, as you might imagine.”

His words all kind of ran together and by the end he was grumbling like a child, but it felt better to let it out. Finding answers would come later. All he needed was someone to understand or at least listen. Dorian was always good at that even if he wouldn’t admit it. His eyes grew wider the longer Mahanon spoke. At the end of the ramble he blinked and shook his head.

“Well,” Dorian finally said with a light chuckle. “You weren’t kidding.”

Mahanon found that he can laugh and it feels good. He pulled his lover’s hand to his lips, leaving a warm kiss just behind his knuckles. He hummed softly, accepting the declaration. Finally the magic in his hand seemed to be leveling out. The light in his palm flickered and faded back to almost normal.

“That leaves us with an important decision to make then.”

He looked up, curious to find a growing smile on his lips. “Oh? And what is that?”

“Do you want to fix it or forget it? I know which I think you need but the choice is always yours.” 

Oh. Rising to his feet, he closed the short distance between them, and wrapped his arms around Dorian’s waist. “Are you suggesting I neglect my sworn duties to the Inquisition and the people of Thedas for a night of self-care? What sort of advisor are you?”

Dorian laughed and leaned into his embrace until he was just a breath away from a kiss. The victory in his eyes was worth any teasing he might get later.

“The best kind, naturally.”

“That you are, vhenan.”