We Need To Talk
“Dorian...I need to...tell you-” the Inquisitor began between ragged gasps, fighting against the exhaustion threatening to knock him from the Dracolisk they were both precariously perched upon.
“Later, Amatus.” the Tevinter cut him off, struggling to keep the pair of them righted as the party pushed for Skyhold. “You can tell me when you've rested.”
A mildly irritated, if resigned, grunt was given in reply as he curled closer to his lover, shivering against the hollow feeling within him.
------
It had not been a kind day for the Inquisitor and his friends. The four of them; Uriel, Dorian, Cassandra, and Cole; had set out to find a missing scouting party between Skyhold and Haven, one Uriel insisted on tracking down himself despite Dorian's protests regarding the cold. They'd found the party, beset by a group of Red Templars, which had apparently been attempting to locate the Inquisition's new base for Corypheus.
The party had leaped into the fray, Uriel himself charging in to lash out with a Spirit Blade when he saw one coming toward himself and Dorian.
“INQUISITOR!” came the cry from Cassandra as Cole gave a cry of alarm, hurling a dagger toward the warrior's retreating back to no avail. It hit a gap in the armor perfectly, but he kept plowing through the snow.
Unfortunately for them, this particular Red Templar was apparently new enough that he could still access his original Templar talents. One moment Uriel had formed the Blade and was coiling his muscles to swing it, the next he was on his knees, gasping for breath as his blood felt like ice in his veins, from the effect of the Smite that he'd been hit with.
A roar of rage came from the Tevinter behind him as the enemy raised his blade, poised to cleave the Marcher's head from his shoulders. Time almost seemed to slow, or perhaps he was moving faster, as he launched first a Horror and then a Walking Bomb spell at the warrior, a Barrier thrown around the Inquisitor for good measure. It would hit him later that he'd cast Haste before the other trio of spells.
The afflicted warrior promptly ran screaming, right toward the other remaining Red Templars. Luckily, there had been a pair of mages in the scouting group who recognized the spells that had been cast and frantically threw a series of Barriers around their allies just before the Walking Bomb took effect. The warrior exploded into a shower of Red Lyrium and blood, causing a chain reaction in the non-protected enemies, bringing them to the same fate.
When the rain of gore was finished and the Barriers faded, the entire group rushed toward the mages, Dorian already at the Inquisitor's side. Cole made it to his other side almost immediately.
“What were you thinking!?” Dorian hissed, hands running frantically over him to check him for injuries.
“Cold, aching, hollow and twisted and dark. Gone. Alone. Haven't felt this since I got to the Circle. He is not hurt, but he can't use his magic, and-” Cole commented, tilting his head to the side as he 'listened'.
“That's enough, Cole.” The spirit's whispy voice was cut off by a rasp from the mage in question, his tone rough and harried, exhausted. He stayed hunched, eyes squeezed shut. “Is...everyone alright?”
“We are fine, Inquisitor. Some injuries, but all will live if we return to Skyhold quickly.” Cassandra answered. “I am surprised that he was still capable of using a Smite.”
“You're...not the only one.” Uriel managed in a weak laugh. “I'll...need to ride with someone...too weak to-”
“You'll ride with me.” Dorian cut him off. “Cole, help me get him on that bloody beast of his.”
“We can double up so that the wounded do not have to walk.” Cassandra said before setting about directing everyone else as the spirit did as he was asked. One of the Inquisitor's arms was slung over his shoulders, the other over Dorian's, as the pair helped their weakened leader onto his Dracolisk.
------
It took them the better portion of a day to return to Skyhold, the party greeted with a flurry of mixed concern and relief at their arrival. With the help of the Iron Bull the Inquisitor was carried up to his room, Dorian being left with instructions to make certain that he got as much rest as possible and assurances that they would not be disturbed the following day. Once they were alone the younger of the two stripped them both of their armor before depositing his exhausted lover onto the bed. After a brief trip around the room to close two out of the three balcony doors and feeding the fire before clambering into the bed beside him, curling up beside the already slumbering other- purely for warmth, he told himself. He was still angry at him for risking his neck.
------
Uriel didn't wake until nearly the midpoint of the following day. Prying his eyes open he found Dorian reclining beside him in the bed, propped up on the pillows as he read one of the many books he'd found on the Inquisitor's personal shelves. With a quiet groan he stretched, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
“Avanna. Finally awake, I see.” Dorian commented without looking up from the book. He was answered with a noise of affirmation as the other rolled to his side, curling himself around the Tevinter's waist and legs.
“How long have I been asleep?” he questioned through a yawn.
“Twelve hours roughly. It's not quite midday, yet. One of the servants brought a tray of breakfast up earlier for when you woke.” came the distracted response as a page was turned in the book. After a moment the book was clapped shut, his next words coming out clipped and irritated. “What were you thinking, Amatus!? Yes, you've been learning the Knight-Enchanter's arts, but you've not mastered them, yet! You could have been killed!”
“I couldn't let him get near you...that was the only thought in my mind.” Uriel sighed, keeping his eyes closed as he sluggishly sat up, pulling one leg up to his chest and wrapping his arms around it.
“Vishante kaffas, I can handle myself, Uriel! I am a grown man and a perfectly capable mage.” he snapped, turning to glare at the other. “You don't need to risk your neck on my account! You're not the replaceable one out of the two of us.”
“Don't say that, don't ever say that! You're not replaceable! There's only one you, Dorian!” came the instant admonition as the Inquisitor tugged his leg tighter to himself. A string of muttered Tevene was hissed through the younger's teeth before he snorted. They'd had this argument frequently.
“Eat something before you make yourself ill.” he said, shaking his head.
“...where is the tray?” he questioned quietly after a moment's silence.
“Tsk. In plain view, right there on your desk, of course. Where else would it be?” His brow furrowed after a moment when the other made no move to get up.
“Dorian, we need to talk. It's...it's rather important.” He would never admit it, but Dorian's heart clenched in his chest, a knot growing in his belly, at those words. He was going to tell him he didn't want to see him anymore. Of course he was; the Inquisitor couldn't very well be distracted and left liable to make such rash actions in battle because of them, after all- and over the 'evil Tevinter magister' of all people. His usual impassive mask slipped into place as he put the book he'd been holding down toward the foot of the bed.
“Oh? I am, as you say, all ears.” he commented, hoping his voice was steadier than he felt.
“I...haven't told you quite everything about myself. I haven't told anyone about this, actually- not even my family knows.” he began, swallowing roughly against his suddenly-dry throat. “You know I was an Enchanter at the Ostwick Circle... Roughly a year before the Conclave, I was attempting to teach an Apprentice how to cast a Lightning Bolt; the spell misfired...struck me square in the face, and knocked me clear across the room. From the time the spell struck me until I hit the wall, all I recall is darkness and searing pain in my eyes. I was unconscious for three days, they tell me. When I awoke, I couldn't see. The best healer in the tower did everything he could, but said it was possible I would never see, again.”
Dorian listened silently, his brow furrowing as the tale went on. Something even his family didn't know? Perhaps he wasn't going to tell him that they needed to end things between them, after all. When the older paused to take a breath, he spoke, voice laden with confusion. “While I do enjoy learning more about you, Amatus, what, precisely, are you trying to tell me?”
Uriel took a deep breath, attempting to quell his trembling limbs as he lifted his head, opening his eyes once he was facing the direction that his lover's voice came from, (hopefully) meeting the gaze of the younger with his own glazed, white, eyes. “... He was right. I'm blind, Dorian. I've not been able to see since that accident.”
“Well...that wasn't what I was expecting, I'll admit. How in the Maker's name can you fight if you can't see? Also, I know I may be a bit easily distracted by your other fine features, but aren't your eyes generally blue?” he questioned after a moment's silence.
“I'm getting to that.” He fell silent himself, listening to the faint sounds of the Brothers and Sisters in the courtyard below filter up through the open window. His flinched as he heard one of the most quoted portions of the Canticle of Transfigurations. He'd never liked that particular verse of the Chant, even less so since being appointed Inquisitor. Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond. “Promise me one thing, first? Promise you won't go running for Cullen or Cassandra...or tell anyone...”
“Of course, Amatus.” Now Dorian was well and truly puzzled, and more than a little concerned. Why would he feel the need to go to Cullen or Cassandra? Another moment of silence passed before Uriel spoke again, terrified of what the other's reaction would be.
“… At some point during the week after I first awoke, a Spirit I came to me as I slept; yes, I am positive it was a Spirit. It was a Spirit of Wisdom, similar to Solas' friend, that we rescued- at least attempted to rescue. We had spoken before, many times, while I slept. My friend took pity on me when it learned of what had happened and offered its assistance. It would be my eyes in return for the knowledge I would gather by being able to see. I agreed on prevision that it would return to the Fade as I slept and we might discuss the day's events and any new knowledge we might have found.” he explained, hesitantly. When Dorian's eyes grew wide and his posture stiffened, given away by a curse in Tevene, Uriel's expression turned frantic. “It's not a demon, nor is it possessing me, I promise, Dorian! It's not even here right now! The Smite...wounded it...and forced it back to the Fade! It won't be able to come back for another day or more!”
Despite the assurances, the Tevinter pushed off of the bed, pacing around the room as he ranted in his native tongue. The Inquisitor's other leg was pulled up to his chest alongside the other, both of them hugged to his chest as he curled in on himself as if to try to sink into the mattress.
“Do you even realize how dangerous that is?! I know that Spirit Healers get help with their healing from Spirits, but that's temporary! The Spirit doesn't stay with them! You saw what happened to that Spirit when it was made to fight! If you'd seen half of the things I've seen, Amatus!” he railed, gesturing vehemently- for all that the other couldn't see it at the moment. When he finally paused for a breath and turned to look at the older male, seeing the state his lover was in, Dorian deflated. He heaved a sigh and went back to the bed, sitting on it and pulling him into a hug as he lightly pulled his fingers through the long, brunet, hair that was normally pulled up into a tight knot. “Fasta Vass. I can't stay angry at you when you look like someone kicked your Mabari.”
“... I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier.” he murmured, leaning his head against the other's shoulder as sightless eyes fluttered closed. “I know it's dangerous...we agreed that I would never ask it to help- nor would it offer to help- with anything other than my eyes...”
“You ought to let Cassandra know, at least. You take her with you more often than not, and-” Dorian was cut off when Uriel gave a firm shake of his head. “Cullen, then?”
“Cass has enough to worry about, and you know how she feels. Cullen is even more out of the question after what he went through in Kinloch Hold. No. No one else. Please, Dorian...” he insisted, shifting to stretch his legs out and wrap his arms around him.
“Festis bei umo canavarum. Very well, Amatus, but I am going with you when you must leave. Someone has to keep an eye on you.” he agreed, giving a rather put-upon sigh. Uriel was about to speak again when he was interrupted from a rather loud, and undignified, growl from his stomach.
After a moment of silence the pair could not help but laugh at the absurd timing of it. Dorian pried himself from his lover's grasp long enough to retrieve the tray of food, settling it on the bed between them. They continued talking as they ate until a servant brought them lunch and, later, supper. The next morning, sooner than Uriel had anticipated, eyes blue with the hue of his Spirit friend slid open to land on the sight of the other mage, still sound asleep beside him.
