#inquisitor x dorain

Rating: Explicit

Warning: This chapter contains a fake suicide attempt. Please, don’t read if suicide is a trigger for you.

This update may be short, but honestly, it’s one of the most emotional ones for me. I cried while writing this chapter. Kes and Dorian are so precious to me, it hurts me to see them in such pain. Depression is also something that I struggle with, so that made writing this even more emotionally taxing for me.

The beautiful image at the beginning is from the wonderful @flavoredmagpie​ on Tumblr. It’s the Three of Swords tarot card which stands for heartache, grief, and sadness. Dorian’s trying to protect Kestrel from the swords’ damage, while Kestrel is poised to kiss Dorian goodbye. The hand around Kestrel’s neck is meant to trap. Dorian is desperate not to let him go. It’s a tragic card, and @flavoredmagpie​ did it justice. They were even able to add in the kestrel and peacock feather details. Please commission them if you’re able to! <3

If you haven’t had a chance, please check out the other artwork I’ve added to Chapter 1 & Chapter 37 of this fic, and the ones I’ve added to “Cicada’s Chorus” and “Everything You Want.” (I’m going crazy since I figured out how to add images to AO3 updates XD)

Weekly updates going forward until the story is finished.  Find this fic in its entirety on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11423880/chapters/25595154

Kestrel stared at the small glass bottle in his palm, dancing light from the candelabra dancing through the green-tinted surface onto his bed.  Soon, he thought, I’ll be free of here.  Or dead. It doesn’t matter so long as Dorian is free again.  Free of him.  Free of the tethers of their relationship, of his race, of his former status.  Green licked at the golden band around his finger. He thought about removing it, leaving it on the nightstand, but quickly discarded that thought.  He’d have to give up on being with Dorian again, without even the slimmest of hopes of being reunited, but that didn’t mean he had to give up what they had, what they shared in time past.  However short their reunion was, it was incredibly sweet. Even if his plan to fake his death failed tomorrow, and he ended up truly dying, he had those memories to hold on to as he slipped into the Void.   Still, he owed it to Dalish not to give in to his buried, dark wish for the poison to be too strong.  He needed to get the boy out of this torture house.

He flopped back onto his pillow and held the bottle aloft, liquid undulating with the sudden shift.  Odd that such a small thing would determine the next stage of his existence. Kestrel lost himself in the green glass and the endless escapes reflected on its translucent surface.   He knew sleep would elude him like every other night in this prison since his torture. At least the fantasies kept the hallucinations in the peripheral.

The night passed slowly, and even when morning finally came about, it was a gray and sullen thing.  No sun breached the overcast skies from what Kestrel could tell through his opaque windows.

He eyed the food tray someone had deposited in his room in the early morning once he finally dozed, but left its contents untouched, too nervous about the day’s events.  Next to the tray sat the poison and a noose crafted from his woven sheet. The noose was crude but would do the trick.

In the middle of the night, Kestrel thought about penning a letter to Dorian, except he had neither utensil nor paper.  He then had the wonderful idea of carving his feelings into the table’s surface, but any words of comfort he’d thought of fell flat.   All that hinted at his idea were a few shallow scratches along the dark wood.

He paced back and forth to ease his nerves, waiting for the light knock on his door from Dalish that would signal to drink the near-deadly draught.  Time crawled, and just as Kestrel began to worry the knock would never come, a faint rapping sounded on his door. Three taps, a pause, and two more - their signal.

Taking a deep breath, Kestrel uncorked the bottle and swallowed its contents in one gulp without hesitation.  There was no turning back now. The poison tasted bitter, but not unpleasant, like the wild greens his Clan used to collect in a nearby field.

Recalling the next step of his plan, he walked into the bathroom, stood on the bench over his chamber pot, and dropped the vial out the small window.  He didn’t even hear it hit the ground below. Next, he tied the end of his makeshift noose to the top of his bedpost, securing it with a sturdy knot. Last, he slung the fabric over his head and around his neck.  It hung loose for a moment before he worked the knot down. With a tug, he found the noose snug and secure and the bed frame sturdy.

Kestrel knew the next part would be the most difficult of his plan.  While he wasn’t actually going to hang himself, he needed to make sure he looked like he had.  That meant the appropriate bruising around his throat. And he needed to accomplish this before the poison took full effect.  Already he noticed his vision blurring with too sudden a movement.

Another deep inhale and Kestrel threw himself opposite the bed.  He heard the wooden frame groan in protest as the noose pulled taunt and yanked him backwards.  Sputtering and grabbing his neck against the pain, he took only a moment to collect himself before flinging outward again.  This time he stumbled and fell to the ground, nearly strangling himself in earnest. The noose was tied too high on the post to allow him close enough to the floor.

Panting with the effort and feeling like every muscle fought him, Kestrel pulled himself up so he could readjust the knot.  It took several attempts as his fingers refused to cooperate, turning numb and gray from the poison. Strained breathing echoed in his pounding head, and he swallowed against a suddenly parched throat.  With the poison running swiftly through his veins now, Kestrel carefully lowered himself down to the floor at the foot of the bed, granted just enough length of his tether to be allowed to sit. Then the world went black.

***

“Kestrel?” questioned a soft voice, forcing him to open his eyes.  The sight before him was almost too much for him to wrap his mind around.

He sat on the floor, naked as usual these days, at the foot of the bed, noose around his pale, deathly gray face.  Body listing to the side, his features were slack, eyes staring without seeing. So then how was he seeing everything before him now?

“Kestrel,” the voice said, more insistent this time.

He turned to the source, finding Cole standing next to him with a troubled expression.

“You’re close to the Veil.  Your pain called me to you. I want to fix this, but I can’t,” he said, sounding sad.  “You know this will hurt him. It will cause a hurt so deep-”

“Kes?” called Dorian, door opening.

Kestrel watched Dorian’s tentative smile fall as his eyes landed on his slumped over form.

“Kes!” he yelled, bolting over to Kestrel’s lifeless body.

Atronis trailed behind him, hands clasped tight.

Dorian made quick work of the noose, gentle even in his haste to remove the fabric from around Kestrel’s neck.  Freed, Dorian cradled Kestrel to his chest, muttering through an already tear-stained face, “No, Kes. No, you can’t leave me like this.  Anything but this.”

“He believes you’re dead, but you’re not.  Almost not. Why do you lie to him? Why do you cause him pain if you love him?”

Kestrel ignored Cole’s questions, cupping his hand over his mouth as he watched Dorian kiss him, lips pressed firmly against his own.  He felt nothing in this spirit form.

Dorian held the kiss even as his tears dropped from his cheeks onto Kestrel’s, as if he believed his will alone would be enough to bring Kestrel back to life, like a childhood fairytale where wishes and belief were enough to cause miracles.  Such miracles remained a thing of myth as Kestrel failed to stir.

Kestrel watched with a breaking heart as Dorian held him close with one arm and slid Kestrel’s blank gaze closed with the other hand.

“I can’t even blame you, amatus .  I put you in this situation, and you saw no other option out.  I’m so sorry I failed you,” Dorian whispered, though his voice creaked and threatened to stop.  He trailed his hand lightly over the bruising around Kestrel’s throat before drifting over his heart.  “ Vishante kaffas !” he suddenly shouted, slamming his fist down hard on Kestrel’s chest, only to fall into a well of tears and cradle Kestrel close once more.

“Dorian,” Atronis said softly.  “We should go. Your mother-”

Shaking his head, Dorian mumbled, “No, not without…”  He trailed off, focusing on pulling the ring from Kestrel’s finger.  Except it didn’t budge. He tried again, and again, and again. Finally, attempt abandoned, Dorian slumped against the bed.  “Nothing? You leave me nothing to remember you by, amatus ?”

Kestrel fought back his own ghostly tears, struggling to keep himself rooted by Cole.  Would Dorian feel his ghostly presence if he reached out? Then a thought came to him, spurred on by that one word.  Nothing .  Turning to his spirit friend, he pleaded, “Make him forget me, please.  Without his memories of me, he won’t be sad. Leave him nothing to remember me by.”

Cole looked between the two of them.  “Memories as big as those will leave a void too large to fill.”

“He doesn’t need it filled, just to forget, Cole.  I’m begging you.”

“Would you forget him?”

Knowing where this was going, Kestrel sighed.  “No. My memories are the only thing I have left of him now.  I can’t give those up.”

Cole nodded his head in agreement.  “I imagine Dorian will feel the same, once the blinding agony dies to a dull pain.”

Before Kestrel could argue with Cole further, Dalish rushed into the room, blue bottle in hand.  Eyes wide, he was clearly surprised to find Dorian and Atronis still there. He quickly hid the bottle behind his back.  “Oh no! What’s happened to Master Kestrel?” he asked, the question stilted with his play acting.

Dorian didn’t notice, murmuring, “He killed himself.”  He ran his fingers through Kestrel’s hair in a loving caress.

Kestrel’s eyes followed Dorian’s hand, longing for his touch one final time.

“Dorian, we need to leave.  You’ll be the first person to blame for his death.”

“But I can’t…I can’t leave him like this.”

Atronis sighed, growing frustrated.  “Well, you can’t take him with you!” he snapped.

Dorian jolted as if physically slapped, but didn’t look away from Kestrel.  “I should have. After Solas turned against us, after the Inquisition disbanded, if I’d just let him come with me from the start, we wouldn’t be here.”  His voice hardened with each word, anger turned inward.

The scene before Kestrel blurred for a moment before refocusing.

“An antidote is needed soon,” Cole said from his side.  “Otherwise his pain will be for nothing.”

Dalish shifted on his feet, eyes darting nervously around.  He too realized time was running out to have the antidote administered.

“Come on, Pavus, your time is up.  Mistress said only a few moments, but I knew you’d push-”  Morven’s complaining stopped suddenly as he entered upon the scene from the hallway.  “What the fuck…?”

“We found him like this, I swear!” Atronis spoke up.

Morven sneered.  “Oh, I’m sure you did!  Wait until Mistress sees what her precious son has done to her prized pet.  Guard!” He stormed out of the room.

“Fuck,” Atronis and Kestrel said at the same time.  This was exactly what they didn’t want to happen.

As they panicked, Dalish knelt before Dorian and asked, “May I see him?  I promise I’ll give him right back.” He spoke softly, like speaking to a traumatized child.

Kestrel held his breath, or maybe that was the poison taking its toll on his lungs.  The scene faded again, returning with a clear picture of Kestrel’s body in Dalish’s arms.

Dorian remained close, a near corpse himself at his lack of acknowledgement of anything but Kestrel.  One of his hands still lingered on Kestrel’s chest, unwilling to separate.

“Dorian,” Atronis said, kneeling by his side and pulling on his shoulders.  It was enough to drag Dorian’s attention to him, if only for a moment.

Still, it was long enough for Dalish to uncork the blue bottom and pour its contents into Kestrel’s mouth.

“We need to-”

“What are you doing to him?” Dorian said, snatching Kestrel’s body away from Dalish in the next heartbeat.  He looked Kestrel over, but finding nothing amiss, he simply frowned at the boy.

“I’m sorry, Master Pavus.  I was confirming his death.”  Dalish rose to his feet and bowed before moving off to the side, toying with the hem of his shirt.

Now they had a different issue.  The antidote took longer than the poison to work, but a lot needed to happen before Kestrel could come back to life, leaving them little time to accomplish everything with.

Cole asked, “Why do you torment each other? I don’t understand.”

Watching Dorian whisper against his cheek, Kestrel couldn’t look away when he responded.  “This way he’ll be free of me, Cole. He’ll be able to live his life without me holding him back.”

“I thought you bright, but you are blind.  He’ll never be free of you, because he doesn’t want to be,” Cole stated, disappointed.  He shook his head, the wide brim of his hat flopping.

“All the more reason to make him forget, Cole!”

“Now you’re the one who does not understand.  If I force his memories away, he’ll be left with nothing.  You’ve filled him to the brim with hope, love, sadness, and despair.  So many emotions tangled around you. If I pull you out, like a stopper in a basin, everything will rush out, leaving him empty.  No, your ask creates more harm, more pain. I will not do it.”

Realizing Cole’s increasing distress, Kestrel quickly said, “Okay, it’s okay, Cole.  I’m sorry.”

Cole glanced at him, tension easing.  “I hope one day you realize that you cause each other more happiness than pain,” he muttered.

Kestrel was left no time to rebut.  Morven had returned with Aquinea, standing over Dorian as his judge and jury, yet Dorian didn’t even acknowledge them, still murmuring against Kestrel’s cheek.  “We have to bury you, amatus .  I remember the Dalish customs, I promise.”

“Morven, you really believe my son is to blame?” Aquinea asked, voice cold as her glare on him.

“I…I mean, who else could’ve caused this?” Morven stammered, flushing red under her studious stare.

“Do you not see the noose next to the slave’s body?  Turns out you did break his mind, after all. No one has recovered from the red lyrium, it was a miss to think this elf could have beaten the odds.  Now you’ve distressed my son.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth, admonishing Morven, even as she knelt besides Dorian.

Aquinea curled an arm around Dorian’s shoulder.  “Come now, son. It is time you leave this body behind.  His soul has moved on as should you.”

“Mother?” Dorian acknowledged through tear-stained cheeks, looking up at her.

“Yes, my boy.  Let’s get you some food and brandy.  It’ll soothe your heartache.” She looked over at Morven, saying, “You will see to the disposal of his body.  This is, afterall, your fault.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Morven said with a bow, although Kestrel could see the irritation etched into his features, hidden from everyone else.

“Now, let go of him, Dorian,” Aquinea said with an air of command.

Dorian did as told, reacting more than thinking, as he latched on to what little motherly comfort Aquinea extended to him.  He lowered Kestrel’s body to the floor and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and into Aquinea’s waiting arms. “There, there.  This is just like when you were a boy and that carriage ran over your cat. You recovered well enough from that, you’ll be fine here too.”

Dorian numbly nodded, not hearing her words, but soaking in her soothing tone.

He broke through her spell once, latching on to Dalish’s shoulder.  “Bury him with a staff and a cedar branch. And plant a tree over his body.  Please.”

Dalish nodded quickly.

“Come now, son,” Aquinea said, pulling them apart.  Arm still over Dorian’s shoulder, Aquinea escorted Dorian from the room.

Definitely not what they wanted.

Atronis glanced at Kestrel and then at Dalish.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Morven sneered.  “Maybe you’ll actually stand a chance of getting into Pavus’ pants now that his pet elf is dead.  There’s no one left to cockblock you.”

Atronis turned a furious red, and Kestrel thought he might actually punch Morven.  Instead, his clenched fists stayed at his sides as he snarled, “Fuck off,” and stormed from the room.

Room cleared, Morven walked over to Kestrel’s body and landed a solid kick to his ribs.  “That’s for leaving me with another mess of yours to clean up!” He kicked him again, and Dalish took a step forward, but stopped before he Morven noticed him.  “That’s because your death should’ve been mine.” Morven spit on Kestrel. “And that’s because I’m glad you’re dead,” he whispered.  

Stepping back, he turned his attention to Dalish.  Nose wrinkled in disgust, Morven said, “Grab his body, boy.  Be quick about it. I’d like to get him in the pit before he shits himself.”