#vengenace

“What- Who the hell are you?”

“Someone needs you somewhere, somewhere that isn’t here.”

“Who said that?”

“Someone important did.”

“I… I guess I better go then.”

“You also need to give me the key to the cells.”

“Why?”

“I want to help you, so I don’t have to hurt you.”

“Alright then, I guess.”

           There was the sound of footsteps, someone fumbling with a key, and suddenly Dorian felt weightless. Was he being carried? He didn’t know. Everything was black, and he couldn’t will himself to open his eyes. Maybe they were moving him somewhere else. Maybe they were finally going to kill him. Good. Everything hurt and he didn’t feel like putting the effort in to live anymore.

           He felt his body hit the ground. Solid, but not stone. Dirt? No not Dirt, Sand. Maker’s breath, Was he finally outside?

           Cold fingers pressed against his neck. He barely felt himself shudder.

           “He’s alive.” It was a woman’s voice, someone he knew but couldn’t place. “Cole, get the inquisitor.”

           There were more footsteps, getting softer and louder around him, voices both familiar and strange. Through it all, he heard his name being called.

           “Dorian! Dorian, can you hear me?”

           It was Armet, it had to be. Maker, maybe he’d finally lost his mind.

           “Is he asleep?”

           “Not quite. Tis a spell I haven’t seen before.”

           “Maybe Vivienne knows. Someone go back to camp and get her.”

           “No, you don’t need all that fancy crap.” It sounded like The Iron Bull, but he couldn’t be certain. “Hand me that flask.”

           It couldn’t have been more than a few drops, but Dorian felt the water hit his face like a tidal wave. It crashed over him, sending him back into consciousness sputtering. He blinked and squinted as his vison cleared. There was a slew of people surrounding him: Leliana, Morrigan, Iron Bull, Varric, even Sera. But where was Armet? Before he could start fretting, he felt a warm hand squeeze his own. He followed the hand to the arm attached to it, and the arm to the person.

           He was holding him up, smiling down at him with shining eyes. Dorian almost didn’t believe it. “Amatus,” He breathed out the endearment like it was his last breath.

           The crowd around them voiced their approval, and Dorian kept his gaze trained on Armet, as if looking away from him would make him disappear.

           “Can you give us some space?” The elf said to the crowd. “We’ll meet you back at camp.”

           The rest muttered quick apologies, and hurried away, leaving the two of them hunched behind a sand dune.

           “Amatus.” Dorian repeated, it seemingly being the only word he could manage at the moment.

           “Yes I’m right here Vhenan.” He said softly, smoothing a hand over the mage’s knee. His gentle smile fell into a frown when Dorian winced. “Oh Fenedhis, I’m sorry, I forgot you were injured-“

           “It’s alright.” He swallowed back a cough. “I may no longer have my looks, but at least I still have my charm.”

           Armet laughed, though Dorian could hear the sorrow and regret in it. “You’re still plenty handsome, Dorian.”

           “Glad to hear it, I-“ but his banter was cut short by a fit of coughs and a searing pain in his lungs. “Kaffas.”

           “Ma’Vhenan,” The elf chided as he helped Dorian into a sitting position to stop the coughing. “I know I shouldn’t ask, it will only make me angrier…”

           Dorian knew the question was coming, he knew that Armet would not like the answer and so he deflected. “You’ve never struck me as the angry sort, Amatus.”

           Armet sighed deeply, eyes screwed shut. “Truth be told, I didn’t think I was. But when Morrigan told me you were hurt-“ When his eyes opened again, Dorian could see the rage burning in them. It was almost frightening. “I need to know what they did to you.”

           “You can see the lot of it. They weren’t exactly shy, these elves.”

Armet nodded slowly, taking a healing potion from his pack and pressing it to Dorian’s lips. Dorian drank it slowly, enjoying the feeling of the magic restoring him. It would still take time for his physical wounds to heal, but this certainly helped.

“And what about what I can’t see?”

Dorian frowned as the empty flask was set in the sand. Curse his clever elf. He met his gaze. There was so much anger and pain in his normally gentle face. He wondered if this was how Armet had looked when he had realized Dorian had left. He sighed, defeated, and said quietly, “It’s nothing I haven’t been dealt before.”

There was a change in Armet’s eyes and Dorian knew he needn’t explain himself farther. “Dorian, I am so-“

“This isn’t your fault. It was the elves.” Kaffas, if he weren’t so weak he’d kiss the worried frown right off the other man’s lips. “Speaking of whom, we should probably hurry back to Skyhold before they notice I’ve been silent for far too long.”

“You’re probably right.” Said the elf, smile returning.

“I’m never wrong.”

“I wouldn’t say never.” Armet extended an arm, and Dorian gladly took it, hoisting himself back to his feet. “Remember that time-“