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Weird would be a generous term for how he’d felt walking into the Exalted Council with one less arm, unbalanced and unable to wield magic he could have just a few days prior, much less a staff . A more accurate word might be vulnerable. He had felt weak, not to mention silly for being the man at the head of an organization that people had begun to fear when it was a challenge to walk straight.
It had been too much all at once, all in the span of mere days .
But Mahanon Lavellan had done his utmost to keep his head held high, to look strong, even if he felt like he would crumple under the weight of the wind. The closest he came to cracking was when he was finally allowed to retreat back to his room, falling into Dorian’s waiting embrace.
There, he found some semblance of comfort. Held tight in the arms of the man he loved, it would be hard not to ease into the relief that above all else, he could rest. For a little while, at least.
But whatever solace he had found in the affections Dorian offered were uprooted just as swiftly when he was stirred not by the usual peppered kisses on his skin, but instead the rummaging of bags being packed.
“... You’re leaving?”
His words were soft, schooled stoicism cracking the grief of these past few days. What he wouldn’t give to be able to run away from this conversation, but he would get nowhere tripping on his feet as he still did.
"That… was the plan, wasn't it?"
Mahanon was heartbroken enough when he’d told him he was returning to Tevinter. It was permanent ; he likely wouldn’t be returning to this region for a good, long time. But he’d understood why. He’d understood that Halward had passed and that he needed to go home, both to succeed him and to mourn. So he wished him well, had taken the sending crystal with the knowledge that they would not always be apart and the hope that it would be shorter than last time.
But this? Now ? After all that had happened?
He opens his mouth to speak, to offer him whatever peace of mind he needed to leave. What came out was not words. It was nothing but the manifestation of grief, regret and the culmination of feeling that stemmed from bottling his emotions up.
A leader had to be stoic, impartial, understanding —
His own traitorous heart is what wrenches a sob from him. Dorian’s eyebrows arch upwards, surprised , and mortification washes over Mahanon like an infectious plague, polluting his tumultuous emotions.
“I-I just—”
He is no longer a leader.
“I thought you would stay…”
"Amatus…"
How easy it had become to destroy him.
When his tears fall, they’re accompanied by a broken laugh, absent of any mirth. He had been so excited to see Dorian. His heart had been alight with glee when the news had been broken that there was a Tevinter ambassador present for the Exalted Council. Even hearing the news that he would leave again, he had been eager to hold him close enough to keep his imagination until they could see each other more.
Now, all he wanted to do was curl up and disappear beneath the sleep-mussed covers. He wanted to hide himself away and let Dorian leave in peace. Doing this was selfish . He was saddling Dorian with the burden of his doubts, his fears, his recovery. The man had just lost his father .
Still, he can’t help himself, can’t stop pitying the fool of an elf that schooled his emotions until he burst at the seams, crushed under weight that one man should never have been asked to carry.
“Guess I was wrong.”
The words tumble from his lips, clumsy and unwanted, swathed in familiar misery that Dorian did not deserve to have thrown in his face.
Through shaking breaths, he doesn’t hear the footsteps that start towards him. It’s not until arms wrap tight around him that he realizes Dorian’s moved at all, much less ventured close enough to pull him into his chest.
Mahanon sobs , dirtying Dorian’s robes with his tears, crying into his chest and relishing in the small comfort of fingers combing through his hair. He would feel so much worse later, when Dorian was gone and his head ached from all the freshly shed tears and the guilt of his fit caught up to him.
“Amatus, there is no place I’d rather be than here, but I thought…” he pauses, nails scraping gently against Mahanon’s scalp. “I didn’t think you needed me....”
Creators, did this man hear himself? Could he not see ?
“I’ve one arm ,” he says, words muddled by misery. Everything would become a struggle. Not forever, perhaps, but he would need to relearn everything . From putting his hair up to wielding a staff, even walking would prove a challenge initially.
“I know, I do, I just… I fear I may be holding you back.”
The noise Mahanon makes is muffled by Dorian’s shirt. The questioning lilt of it makes his curiosity apparent without ever needing proper words, all without Dorian needing to see his pitiful, tear-stricken face. Yet the man pays no mind to either, resting a hand on his shoulder to gently disconnect them.
He wants to chase him, to keep his face hidden, to keep Dorian from seeing how red his eyes already must be. He’d never shed a single tear in front of him, even though Dorian himself had done exactly that the one time Mahanon had met his father.
But Dorian is having none of it, cupping his cheeks and holding him there to meet his gaze. It’s smoldering , suffocating in the same way his affection had always left him breathless.
“You’re so strong, Amatus. And here I am, waiting on you hand and foot like you can do nothing on your own, knowing that you are capable of much more than even you give yourself credit for,” he pauses, rubbing a thumb over a scarred cheek. “But… if you need me—”
“I do,” Mahanon whispers, not giving Dorian a chance to finish speaking before he interrupts him with his damned feelings. “I can’t do this on my own.”
The Exalted Council has been too much, too hard after finding out what Solas intends, too soon after losing his arm to the Anchor. He needed Dorian, even if just for a little longer.
"Alright."
"Al… Alright?"
Mahanon's head jerks up at the word. It was ambiguous, too much so for how he was feeling, but Dorian didn’t leave him to flounder with his self-doubt for long.
"I'll stay, at least until you're safely back in Skyhold to gather your things," Dorian says, pushing his loose hair from his eyes. Relief washes over him. It would be only a few days of time with Dorian, meager in the larger scale of things, but perhaps it would be enough. Perhaps that was all he’d need to process the worst of it. "And once you're able to handle yourself in a fight, I'll send you an escort to bring you to Minrathous, if you've still a mind to be foolish."
Mahanon nods, slow and dim and wishing for nothing more than to crawl back into bed with his heart and curl up together under the covers.
"Oh, Amatus, whatever am I to do with you? When will I ever get through that thick, beautiful skull of yours? You’ve no need to hide yourself from me the way that you do."
A hand whisks through his brown locks, offering a gentle reprieve from his tumultuous emotions. He knew that he didn’t need to, and yet here he was, still doing so.
“I’m sorry…”
All he can offer is an apology, one that Dorian tuts at as if to scold him.
“You’ve no need to apologize. I’m just at fault; I shouldn’t have assumed you didn’t need me,” Dorian says, cleverly skirting past the point of missing him. That part had to be obvious, after all, and it was a feeling that was very much mutual.
Guilt would plague him later, he knew. When he slept with Dorian at his back, long after he should have headed back, he will regret twisting his arm and forcing Dorian to make this decision because he was too terrified of simply asking him to.
“Rest. I will be here when you wake up, Amatus.”
And he was.