Chapter Text
Dorian wasn’t sure how long Ryn had been there before he looked up to find the elf standing in the doorway watching him.
When their eyes met, Ryn took a deep, somewhat less-than-steady breath. “Are you ready?”
“Surely you know better than that, Amatus.”
He flinched at the name, and Dorian knew it wasn’t quite fair play to use it. He had considered – but to his credit not resorted to – sabotaging the work Alexius was doing attuning the amulet to take Dorian back where he belonged. It was ironic that his only chance to see his mentor alive and well again should come with the heartbreaking reality of what he would be returning to. He hadn’t trusted himself to interact with the man.
“Tell me how it happened,” Dorian said.
“I don’t think that would help.”
“Something to carry home with me,” Dorian said. “A story of the life I could have had.”
“Please don’t do that,” Ryn’s voice was nearly a whisper. He couldn’t look at him.
They had been back at Skyhold a week. What should have been a triumphant return was blackened by the Inquisitor’s mood. The weight of his responsibilities hung, heavy and clear, from his shoulders, and Dorian found himself not quite a good enough man to pretend to accept the decision and ease his burden as he should. Ryn claimed he couldn’t bear the thought of Dorian dying in both worlds, but he wondered if his decision might have had just as much to do with the threat Dorian himself posed – the possibility of reality tearing itself apart around him as it tried to set matters right.
Ryn moved into the room, and the fluid, eye catching beauty of his motions struck Dorian as another of fate’s cruelties. He could feel his warm solidity as he came to stand beside him at the window.
“You…fascinated me,” Ryn said at last. “From the first moment.”
“You’re going to tell me after all, then? Very well. I am rather irresistible. Please, go on.”
He was quiet for a moment before Ryn continued. “You have to understand how – how terrifying those days were for me, how lost and unsure I felt with all these humans calling me Herald, asking me to lead them, looking at me like – like they do.”
“I find it hard to believe you handled it with anything other than your typical grace.”
Ryn ignored the compliment, just as he ignored the hand that brushed his arm.
“You were so confident, so willing to help,” Ryn said. “And you looked at me neither as a holy savior nor a barefoot savage. Our experiences in Redcliff notwithstanding, being in your company, I found, was…strengthening. I began to seek you out more and more.”
“I see,” Dorian said, and he could. He could too well imagine the effect it would have to have this beautiful, charming lad single him out in such a manner.
Ryn swallowed, eyes on the window, arms crossed against his narrow chest. “The first time we made love,” he said, “Neither one of us could stop smiling. ‘Now Amatus,’ you scolded me, ‘this is serious business!’ But I was…we were both…just so happy.”
“That sounds – “
“Dorian,” Ryn looked at him at last, and he was surprised to see that the elf’s eyes bore determination. “You can’t change my mind.”
“What are you - ?”
“Don’t,” he said firmly. The Inquisitor’s voice. “You have to go back. You know that.”
“If you would only examine some of the other options - !”
“What other options, Dorian? Watch you waste away – watch you die while we scramble in futility to find a cure for something no one has experienced before? Let a hole be ripped in reality because I was too selfish to do the right thing?”
“Amatus – “
“Stop. Stop being so…Dorian. Don’t you understand how difficult this is?”
“You don’t think it’s difficult for me? Going back to that place? Losing you?” he reached for his hands. Ryn jerked them away.
“You don’t even know me, Dorian.”
“I know enough.”
They fell silent, staring at one another, and Dorian could see, despite the lad’s clear resolve, the fear, the hurt, the pain in those eyes of his.
“Let’s stop this,” Dorian said. “The last thing we need is some grandiose pissing contest over who is more tormented over this, don’t you agree?”
Ryn took a deep breath, drawing away.
“I have everyone gathering in the courtyard,” he said. “If you aren’t down in an hour, I will send someone to fetch you.”
“Is that really how this ends? Dragged away by your guards?”
“I hope not, Dorian. Sincerely.”
“Wouldn’t a kiss be more appropriate?”
“I – can’t,” Ryn’s voice was short as he let himself out.
--
It was a cruel irony, Ryn decided, that the one person who would have been able to comfort him in this situation was the one who was too painful to be around.
“I want everyone clear of this perimeter,” Ryn instructed, digging a line in the dirt of the courtyard with the toe of his boot. They had their uses every once in a while, boots. “I don’t want anyone caught in this – I mean it.”
A crowd had gathered. Few knew the truth of what they were doing, but the chance to stare at the Inquisitor was rarely missed. An audience of strangers to watch him send his love away. An audience of strangers to witness his grief when whatever remained of his Dorian returned in this one’s place.
A hand caught his arm. “Inquisitor,” Cullen said, voice pitched low, urgent. “Let me beg you again – retreat to your rooms. You don’t need to be here for this; Alexius thinks your anchor will still react as needed so long as you are in Skyhold. I will respectfully see to the remains myself.”
It was so tempting to run away, hide, not have to watch –
He wanted –
Well, it had been a long time he what he wanted had mattered. And now his last solace, his only peace in the madness that had followed the Conclave – now it was lost as well.
“I have to be here,” he said, and tried not to think of Dorian’s near-reverent touch, his soft smiles when they were alone, the expression in his eyes when he caught his gaze. He tried not to think of what he meant to him, and how empty his life would be without him.
The man in question came down the stairs into the courtyard, and did not look his way. Ryn could not make himself see him as an imposter, as to blame for this loss. They were not quite the same, the two Dorians, but he couldn’t help but feel as if he were losing him twice.
He clenched his hand, and felt the small slip of paper he carried press against the mark in his palm. One last hope, one small, meager consolation. It was all he had left to cling to.
--
Dorian felt like a man walking to his execution.
The courtyard was ringed by spectators, and Ryn, when he chanced a brief glance his way, was somber and expressionless.
Solas and Alexius waited within the cleared ring of space, and their body language made it clear each disliked the other’s company. Alexius was under guard, and held the amulet dangling from one hand. Solas looked as if he hoped the magister would give him an excuse.
“I regret we’re seeing one another again under such circumstances,” Dorian told his mentor as he approached. To his credit, he kept his voice light.
“As do I,” Alexius answered. “We did not part on the best of terms. They tell me I’m deceased where you come from. It’s a pity we have not had time to chat.”
“Is everything ready?” Ryn’s voice broke through the conversation as he approached. Hard – determined – there was no hope there. It was surprising how powerfully Dorian found himself yearning to see him soft and smiling and teasing one last time.
“I have marked the place where you are to stand, Inquisitor,” Solas said. “We are as prepared as can be. On your word.”
He nodded. “Good,” he said. “Dorian?”
Ryn held out his hand, and Dorian felt the most absurd urge to laugh when he took it – until the elf slipped a piece of paper into his palm.
“What - ?”
Ryn pushed up on his toes, wrapping his arms around Dorian, the hug tight, fierce.
“Directions to find my clan at this time of year,” Ryn told him softly, breath against his ear. “We’re peaceful, and do not generally have trouble with humans. You should be…” For the first time, Dorian heard his voice hitch with the heartbreak he could not express before so many onlookers. “Find me, Dorian. Promise you will try.”
“You truly think - ?”
“I refuse to believe a world exists where I wouldn’t love you,” he said, pressing his lips to Dorian’s jaw, arms going tighter. “It has to work somewhere, doesn’t it? We could be happy. Promise you’ll find me.”
“I promise,” he said, holding him, clutching the paper. He didn’t want to let him go.
“Inquisitor,” Solas said gently.
It seemed as if Ryn had to physically push himself away, turning quickly to take his place, hands up against his face, attempting to hide his tears from the onlookers. He squared his shoulders, putting on his Inquisitor’s face as Solas and Alexius moved to their marks. His eyes were red when they met Dorian’s. Loving, longing – everything the mage had ever wanted. He held his gaze as he stepped back to his own place, lifting the scrap of paper to his lips.
The amulet glowed green as Alexius held it aloft, and it hummed as Solas began to channel his spell.
I love you, Ryn’s lips formed the words, hand lifting, mark flashing green.
Dorian held onto the sight of him for as long as he could as the green light surrounded him, blinded him, pushing him back to that place where things were so different, so solitary, so terribly lonesome.
He gripped the paper and held onto that vision of Ryn.
For the first time, he had hope.