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Love Me	By : Hellsingscryed Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 1561 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age Inquisition or any of its characters and I make no money from this

Chapter List
- 1-Love Me
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Mahanon frowned as he plunged his daggers into the last shade's back, killing it easily. It had been a strangely long time since any of the demons had been set on fire. What in the name of the Dread Wolf was Dorian doing...? He sheathed his daggers and looked around, a tiny bit annoyed with his lover. He suddenly froze, however, his kohl-rimmed eyes widening.
"Creators, no..." he breathed faintly as Varric and the Iron Bull both frowned in confusion.
"What's wrong, Boss?" the Qunari asked. "Dorian's robes get stained?" He and the dwarf watched as Mahanon suddenly burst into movement, running across the clearing. The Bull's one eye widened when the elf sank to his knees... beside a motionless Dorian.
"...Oh, shit..." Varric muttered in shock.
Mahanon was shaking his head repeatedly, fumbling for the last two elfroot potions on his belt. "Creators, please no... Falon'Din, please please PLEASE turn around and guide him back to me... Please. It can't be his time, it simply can't be!" His hands, usually so nimble, shook as he fought to pour the first potion down the terrifyingly still mage's throat.
"Come on, Dorian... Quit fucking around and open your damn eyes..." the elf pleaded, desperately pouring the last potion over the horrendous wound the mage's burned and slightly shredded robes revealed marring that perfectly tanned and toned chest. "Don't do this to me..."
But it was no use. Healing potions didn't work on the dead, and the elf let out a choked sob, slumping to rest his forehead against the unruined side of the Tevinter's chest. "...Why...?" he whispered, his deep voice cracking with grief.
"Why him?"
Varric touched his shoulder lightly. "...We should get him back to Skyhold..." the beardless dwarf said softly, frowning when the Inquisitor didn't respond. Varric shook his head and gently pulled the elf to his feet as the Bull knelt on Dorian's other side and very carefully lifted the mage's lifeless body, Varric making sure to pick up the fallen staff, the skull at the top seeming more morbid now than it ever had before.
Mahanon stayed quiet the whole way back, allowing Varric to lead him like a child, the Bull with his sad burden walking behind them.
"...You mustn't blame yourself," was the first thing Cole said upon the Inquisitor's arrival at Skyhold. "He... Dorian gave his life protecting you," the spirit-boy continued quietly, his eerily perceptive eyes widening slightly when Mahanon suddenly rounded on him.
"He had no right!" the elf snapped angrily. "No right to sacrifice himself..."
Cole flinched a tiny bit. "...No demon is going to kill my amatus. No time to warn him, no time for a barrier spell... Put myself in its path. Take the blow instead of him, then kill it. Fire, claws, pain, burning, ripping... Vision blurring, is he alright? Did I save him? Still can't see... Coughing, blood spraying, that'll never come out, bloodstains on silk... Blades flashing, he's alive. Praise the Maker my amatus is alive... Wish I could touch him, kiss him one last time..." The spirit-boy cocked his head slightly. "Mahanon, he died happy, knowing that he had saved your life."
Mahanon suddenly sank to the ground, harsh sobs wracking his leanly muscled frame. "...Stupid shemlen..." he mumbled brokenly. "What in b-blazes made him think I'd want to... to live without him...?"
Cole frowned. "I just want to help, but that didn't work... Your hurt is too deep, too much. I am sorry." He hesitated a little, then carefully pulled the elf to his feet and led him to his quarters, his friend's pain pushing relentlessly at him.
Remembering how he'd seen the healers making people comfortable, as well as what other people's memories had shown him about comforting others, Cole helped the Inquisitor into his bed and pulled the covers up, tucking him in a bit clumsily before leaving quietly. He was rarely so unsure how to help someone, and he found himself wishing he could bring Dorian back, just as he had wished he could bring back the original Cole, the young apostate boy whose suffering had called him from the Fade in the first place.
The others all visited Mahanon in his room, one by one over the next few hours, each trying in their own way to comfort the distraught Inquisitor, but he barely even acknowledged any of them, clutching one of Dorian's favorite robes tightly.
He only left his bed to use the chamber pot, and to attend the funeral, for which he had pulled the silk robe onto his body, despite it being too big for him. When he returned to his sadly empty bed halfway through the service, he kept the garment wrapped tightly around himself and curled up in a tight little ball of misery, struggling to make sense of a world where his beloved mage had survived the final battle with Corypheus only to be slain by a mere demon.
Days became weeks became months, and still the Inquisitor mourned, only eating when Cassandra and the Iron Bull threatened to force feed him. The Inquisition's ambassador eventually found herself starting to scramble for excuses as to why the Inquisitor hadn't been seen in months, and that was when some of the others started trying to convince him to move on with his life, but to no avail.
Mahanon sat at his desk, his pen moving slowly over a piece of parchment. His once lively brown eyes were dull, the kohl lining them smudged almost completely away. His long black hair was limp and matted, and his once leanly muscled body was now far too skinny from hardly eating. After a minute or two more of writing, he finally laid the pen down and carefully stood. He glanced listlessly around the quarters he had shared for so long with the sassy Tevinter mage, then took one of his wickedly sharp daggers from the desk, running his thumb along the edge and barely even flinching when the pad was sliced open.
He watched the blood trickle down his arm for a few moments before sinking down to the floor, leaning against the desk. "Ma'vhenan... May Falon'Din see fit to reunite us..." he breathed before leaning his head back against the desk and drawing the blade across his own throat without any hesitation. He let out only a faint sound of pain as his life's blood poured from the wound, staining his entire front deep crimson. He closed his eyes and waited for Falon'Din to come for him, surrendering peacefully to the smothering darkness.
Josephine's scream echoed down the stairway and through the Great Hall, bringing the others at a dead run. "What's wrong, dear?" Vivienne asked, then stopped short, her eyes widening when she saw what had caused the usually unflappable ambassador to scream like that. "...Really, darling? Suicide? How dreadfully common..."
Varric swore when he arrived and shoved past Vivienne to pick up the piece of parchment in the center of the desk.
"'Forgive me everyone,'" he read slowly, "'but I cannot face the world without him. Dorian was my rock, the one thing that kept me grounded through all this crazy shit. Without him, I can't see a point to anything anymore. Just know that for the first time since Dorian's death, I am finally at peace. Try not to kill each other figuring out who should become the new Inquisitor. Farewell, Mahanon Lavellan'..."
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