Little But Not Less | ✓

Greener in the Shadows

Dorian had been worried lately - desperately worried. He had noticed the Inquisitor withdrawing from him for weeks now, and it was getting to the point that other people had noticed. At first, it had just been forced smiles and broken gazes, but now it had come to the point of Gael not visiting Dorian's nook in the library at all, opting to take a route around Skyhold that didn't pass by him - though the path he now took was more efficient than the one he usually favoured. Varric had noticed first, of course, much to Dorian's chagrin. 

"Did you do something to upset our precious Inquisitor, Sparkler?" Varric asked, peering up at Dorian curiously, the Tevinter's step faltering before he collected himself. Rubbing his chin, Dorian shook his head. Varric snorted, his stubby hand tugging on Dorian's elbow, pulling them to a stop.

"What, Varric?" Dorian sighed, exasperated.

"You're not the only one the Inquisitor has been avoiding, though he seems to be making an extra effort to stay out of your range in particular," Varric noted, Dorian opening his mouth to reply with a witty quip, but bit his tongue when he saw Varric's worried face. 

"It wasn't anything that I did," Dorian said, catching himself as Varric quirked up a brow. "Not that I've done anything!"

"You haven't done enough if you ask me," Varric muttered, Dorian's cheeks flushing. "But that's beside the point - for now. Do you have any idea what's gotten into him? You're the one watching him the most."

Dorian didn't even bother trying to retort Varric's astute observation since it was true. If Dorian was the one watching Gael, Varric was the one watching Dorian, waiting in the background ready to capture Dorian's most graceless and embarrassing moments and putting pen to paper for the next instalment of 'Inquisit Me' (a work of pure fiction, Dorian defiantly maintained). Varric knew more about him than his own father did, but at least he had some semblance of trust in the tiny man to not throw him to the wolves.

"Fine, Sparkler," Varric said, taking in Dorian's lost expression, clapping the Tevinter on the back as he tucked his quill and parchment under his armpit, turning to a door off the main hall of Skyhold. Casting a backwards glance at Dorian, who looked around the throne room in a bid to catch a look Gael's flittering form which was bleakly absent from the picture, Varric gave the mage a sad look. "If you find out what's been troubling the Inquisitor, please fix it."

"Me? What can I do?" Dorian asked, his head tilting to the side. Varric gave Dorian a small smile before disappearing, the mage sighing as Varric's gruff humming grew softer as his heavy steps echoed away.

It was late now, the sun long since disappearing behind the mountains and the grounds of Skyhold were now thoroughly doused in the night's velvety darkness. Though not void of any people, the late guard watch still alert with the threat of Corypheus lingering in the air around them, it was much quieter than how it was during the day. Only a few windows flickered with candlelight, one of them being Gael's quarters. Dorian found his feet carrying him towards the warmth there despite himself, his knuckles pressing against the door in three consecutive taps. His knocks were met with a startled noise followed by the sound of something falling to the ground in a clutter. Alarmed, Dorian opened the door without invitation. 

"Inquisitor?" Dorian asked, eyes moving about the room before resting on Gael's hunched form, which kneeled on the ground amidst a pile of dropped papers and books. The elf's slender right hand tightly gripped the edge of his ornate desk, his short nails digging into the wood as his other was pressed to his chest, casting an eery green glow across the walls. 

"Stay back, Dorian," Gael forced out, his voice strained as he bit back a cry. Most of the tormented noise was bolted to his throat, but a slither escaped his parted lips, the broken sound making Dorian quake in his exquisitely tailored boots. Gael's cry tore through him like a blade, and Dorian was soon kneeling by the elf's side, his hand gently shaking the smaller man's shoulders, which already trembled without his touch. The elf looked so small, smaller than usual, and incredibly fragile. 

"Inquisitor," Dorian whispered, mouth dry as he peered down at Gael's form. A sheen of sweat glistened on Gael's forehead, which dipped and rose in strained bunches between his light eyebrows. The sweat soaked into his hair, which hung limply down his back in a braid that had begun to fall apart, unruly wisps sticking out from their confines. Gael's lips were pale, his vallaslin more vibrant against his pasty complexion. 

"I didn't think I was speaking Elvish, Dorian," Gael grunted, giving Dorian a short look as he shrugged the Tevinter mage's hand off his shoulder, standing up with wobbly legs. As he sucked in a breath the mark on his hand sparked, Gael snuffing out its burst by clenching his fist tightly. "I told you to stay back."

"You're in pain," Dorian said, ignoring Gael's cold comment, Gael laughing dryly as he shakily poured himself a glass of water, his tremors making the lukewarm water slosh out of the metal goblet and onto his desk. Water dripped off the edge of the table and onto some parchment, the dark ink running. Muttering something under his breath, Gael picked up the goblet and drained its contents, coughing a little.

"I'm fine," Gael replied as he set down the goblet, glancing down at the Anchor which defiled the once smooth skin of his hand. Gael felt bile rising in his throat as he looked at the mark that scarred him, the green glow burning. It had become a burn that Gael had become used to, his body growing numb to the constant ache of the Anchor. He had grown used to it, but when it flared, it was almost too much to bare. What was of more concern was the increasing frequency of the sparks, something that Gael was desperate to keep to himself. 

"You are not fine," Dorian said, grabbing Gael's hand in his. Gael pulled his hand away, but Dorian was defiant, gripping it once again. Too tired to fight him, Gael let him pull and tug at his hand, flipping his palm over to trace his thumb along the ragged bumps of the Anchor. Gael swallowed thickly as the hairs on the back of his neck grew erect at the soft brush of Dorian's fingers against his palm, turning his face away from the older man's. "It's the mark, isn't it? It's why you've been avoiding us."

Avoiding me were the unspoken words that seemed to scream louder than the words that actually fell from Dorian's lips.

"I don't want you - all of you - to see me like this," Gael said quietly, finally pulling his hand away from Dorian's to rub it, the aftershocks of the Anchor's outburst still tingling violently. 

"Why?" Dorian asked, Gael giving him a look that made his heart swell. 

"You saw me - all... hunched over, shaking, crying. It's not..." Gael started, running his fingers through the stray locks of hair that had fallen over his eyes. "Seeing me like this would hardly inspire hope, and hope is sparse as it is."

Ah, this is the man that I have falle-

Dorian shook his silent voice from his mind, stepping in front of Gael as he gently nudged the elf's chin up, Gael's eyes meeting his. 

"You were trying to carry this burden alone?" Dorian asked, voice quiet, Gael nodding against his fingers slightly. The small movement made Dorian gulp, wanting nothing more than to crush the elf into his arms. Swallowing thickly, Dorian let his hands drop, clenching them tightly by his side. Clearing his throat, Dorian gave the Inquisitor a smile, his moustache rising with the motion. "Well, you are not alone now, Inquisitor. I am a generous man, and will take it upon my most exquisite self to carry some of this burden, no matter how cumbersome." Gael looked at Dorian for a moment, his expression so gentle it made Dorian weak, before his face lightened with a smile that put the stars to shame.

"It's incredibly heavy, Dorian. I'm not sure you or your tailored robes could handle it," Gael said, grinning a little as Dorian huffed, flicking the fluttering hem of his robes with effortless finesse. 

"Don't be daft, these silks are incredibly durable," Dorian said, faking offence. "I'll have you know that I only seek my clothing from the finest tailors in Minrathous, anything else is far too unsightly." His miffed expression cracked when Gael laughed, the sound making Dorian lose all sense. Sobering only a drop, Dorian pressed a hand to his chest, his rings shining in the firelight. "Honestly though, Gael - you don't have to do this alone. We're all here for you."

I'm here for you.

"I know," Gael replied, giving Dorian a small, knowing smile, the gesture answering Dorian's silent voice. "If the Anchor decides to throw a fit again, I'll let you know."

Only you.